Monster Party Book 7: There's some things you're never gonna help
by James Firecat
Summary: G'Henna is a land of religious zeal, and hunger. It is a land where the very concept of abundance is a sin and starvation is a sacrament. It is a land that is desperately in need of change... but can our a strange band of adventurers make sure it changes for the better and not the worse?
1. Chapter 1

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter One: Hungry like the wolf.

The mists swirled deep and heavy, gathering together so thickly that if you held out your hand you wouldn't be able to see your own fingers.

People avoided such thick mist whenever possible, if you entered it there was no telling what sort of danger you might end up blundering into blindly. Even if you took the precaution of standing completely still, you might still be transported halfway across the Core. The Mists did as they pleased, and even the mightiest mages in the world had not yet discovered a spell that could thwart their will.

So those who could avoid the Mists did, and counted their blessings every time they avoided an unknown and likely unpleasant fate. Those who would not be allowed such mundane niceties as always waking up in the same realm in which they had fallen asleep, strove to face such bizarre events with good humor, or at least stoic acceptance. It was nothing that could be planned for or plotted against, so one had best simply roll with the punches.

As one such rolling fog bank passed through a desolate land of skeletal trees, a woman who saw it approaching let out a shriek of horror.

Then, knowing full well she had no chance of flight, the woman threw herself into the rolling cloud of mist, prepared to accept her fate.

A pair of strong arms seized her roughly, and then suddenly the cloud of mist was gone, and the woman could see who held her.

It was a tall man in a black vaguely martial uniform which had been marked with a few strange silver symbols. His hair was likewise a shinning silver and grew unnaturally long, falling well down past his shoulders. His left eye was bright green, but his right was covered by a black eye-patch.

As the man in turn was finally able to see exactly who and what he had seized, his black gloved grip loosened slightly, certain that the woman posed no threat to him.

Indeed, the woman seemed to be barley clinging to life. Her clothes and hair were a hideous matted ruin, stained by both mud and blood alike. Her brown eyes were wide with shock, and her weakened limbs did nothing to try and resist the man's grip.

"Seek Mard. Mard will know what to do. You can find her towards the sun's rising." The woman whispered, turning her head back the way that she had just come.

"Florence, healing now!" Alexander insisted.

In response a woman clad in a strange green leotard like outfit stepped forward. Her eyes, like the man's were green, but a deeper green, like the color of leaves in summer after a long rain. Even her skin had a faint green tinge to it, and her blond hair was rough and almost straw like in its texture. In her hands she gripped a wooden staff, and pressed it gently against the wounded woman, while rapidly whispering words.

She could not speak them fast enough though, in fact before she could even properly begin, the woman's eyes had rolled back in her head as she abruptly perished.

As the corpse sagged in the man's hands he sighed and slowly knelt to the ground before letting go of her.

"She's gone..." He sighed despondently.

It would not be the first time Alexander Diamondclaw had been forced to watch someone die while being utterly helpless to save them, but even so…

"Well, that isn't a bad omen at all. I bet today is gonna be a great day!" Declared Callan Wright, a dirty blond haired blue eyed (said eyes were made to look all the more icy blue by the lenses which they lay behind) man with false joviality.

He was dressed in a brown cloak, beneath which could be seen a blue outfit of some sort, and red tie. On his belt he wore many differently colored potions, and strapped his back was a strange almost unnaturally slender firearm.

"We've seen worse omens." Answered Devi Skye, a brown eyed, blue haired woman.

Looking closely a said oddly colored hair it was possible to see a pair of pointed ears poking out of it, suggesting she was not human, but an elf. She wore a flail gently wrapped around her right arm like a metallic serpent.

"Are you sure that there's nothing you can do Florence?" Piped up a the voice of James Firecat.

He was a young looking man dressed in red jacket and pants. Atop his head he wore a red wide brimmed hat that covered nearly all of his hair, but from the back it was possible to see that indeed it was also scarlet.

His brown eyes went wide and sorrowful as he also got down on his knees to helplessly inspect the dead woman.

Florence Bastien could only lower her staff and slowly shake her head.

"I can kindle and encourage the flame of life, but once it has been extinguished..." She lamented.

"So, our mysterious woman is dead. What should we do next, stand around and gape at how depressing everything is?" Mirri Catwarrior called out in a tone of inappropriate good cheer.

She was a tall woman (though still shorter than Alexander) dressed in a white jacket and black pants. She wore a white hat tilted back slightly so it was possible to see her might black hair that was parted in the middle by a streak of white.

Her eyes were a strange ruby red color that were captivating in the extreme. She wore a pair white of gloves and was currently resting them upon her hips in a state of utter indifference.

"What do you think killed her?" James half whimpered, his lip quivering slightly.

Alexander began to carefully probe the dead woman's outfit, trying to determine what damage had been done to it simply by the passage of time, and what had a more recent cause.

The woman's body was gaunt in the extreme, as if she had been on the brink of starvation, and it clearly wouldn't have taken much to cut her life short. There were red gaping wounds on her legs, and as Alexander ran his gloved hands along the wounds he nodded to himself.

"Wolf bites. She was thin enough to be half dead already, but wolves finished the job." He declared with the utmost confidence.

"So what do we do with her? It is too wet to bury her..." James worried.

Indeed the soil they now stood upon was half mud, any attempt to dig a proper grave would have been an exercise in futility.

"We'll take her with us, if we find the 'Mard' that she was so interested in, maybe they will be able to take care of her remains." He decided.

Then Alexander picked up the dead woman's corpse and slung it over his shoulders in a somewhat rough manner.

Luckily (for a given value of the term) the rain which had dampened the ground so recently had ceased before the adventures arrived. A weakly shining sun poked out through the heavy clouds giving them a path to be followed.

They struck out towards the sun, hoping that they'd be able to find the "Mard" person that the dead woman had spoken of.

The first thing they found was another nearly decrepit tree, beside which rested a bundle wrapped in swaddling clothes. A gaunt wolf was nuzzling at the bundle awkwardly, but no sooner did the group begin to approach than it let loose with a pathetic whine and retreated. Alexander laid the corpse down, and inspected the bundle.

Inside it, he discovered a small child's skeleton.

"Well, this place is just full of amusing and delightful discoveries..." Mirri Catwarrior snickered.

"At least now I know what we need to do with this corpse..." Alexander declared solemnly.

A slow mournful howl went up from their surroundings. Any theories of how the wolf's near starving state might suggest that it had recently been chased from its pack were promptly proven false.

An entire pack full of half starved wolves began to slowly approach the group. They looked like they had more mud and fur covering their bones than anything else.

Alexander slowly got down on his knees, and began to inch towards the largest of the wolves. It was a great black beast with a white blaze across his chest.

Slowly a smile came to Alexander's face as his green eye looked directly into the wolf's orange ones.

"You're trying hard aren't you? Wherever we are, there isn't much to hunt? Even as the alpha, you still haven't been getting enough to eat. Here, you earned this kill..." Then he rolled the corpse across the ground towards the wolves.

"Um, Alex, are you sure about this…?" James couldn't help but quibble slightly with his commander's choice.

Alexander straightened up and gave a profound sigh, followed up with a heavy shrug.

"Burying her remains wasn't an option. Besides, what have worms ever done for me, that they should be given first claim to this woman's flesh?" He added as the pack began to gather around, eager to feast.

"Is there still time to request a proper traditional burial, or are we all going to inevitably end up feeding your furry friends?" Cal couldn't help but ask, trying to look away from the happily masticating predators.

"Cal, what difference do you really think it is going to make, to you? You'll be dead. Whatever other faults it has, death will inevitably solve all your problems." The silver haired man shot back.

"If you're lazy." Mirri huffed in disapproval.

"Florence, why don't you explain to the others exactly what happens to people when they die?" Alexander suggested, and just let the matter hang there for the moment.

"How about she doesn't, and we just pretend she did?" Cal abruptly suggested, having a pretty good theory of how that lecture would go.

"Do you think they'll leave us alone once they're done eating?" Devi pondered, rubbing a blue gloved hand against her flail.

"As much as wolves ever leave me alone." Alexander answered with a small touch of a smile.

"They're some of the hungriest look wolves I've ever seen..." James awkwardly noted, striving to not have his normally upbeat mood be crushed by their less than optimal situation.

"Yes, they're hungry." Alexander insisted, his one eye locked on the wolves.

While they were busy eating, the lupines staid still enough that Alexander could have counted their ribs… a testament to their desperate need for sustinence.

"Wolves aren't like tigers. They don't develop an insatiable taste for human flesh just because they've had one meal of it." Alexander insisted, crossing his arms calmly.

"They are like tigers in one way… they typically only attack humans if the humans is especially easy prey, or they wolf is hopelessly hungry." Florence countered.

"Given how starved that woman was, and how starved these wolves are, I think it might be a case of 'and' rather than 'or' at the moment." Devi pointed out.

With still more snapping of jaws and crunching of bones the wolves finished up devouring the woman whose name was still a mystery to the group. Then they turned to face Alexander, who could only hold out his hands, showing that they were empty and devoid of further nourishment.

"I'm not a god, I can't make food for you just by wishing it." Alexander told them.

The wolf pack looked momentarily dejected by this news, but only for a few moments. Then the black wolf with the white blaze suddenly lashed his tail, and tilted his ears.

A moment later Alexander was knocked to the ground as the black wolf and another slightly smaller gray furred one pounced upon him. The wolves were not especially well fed, but their combined weight was still more than enough to knock Alexander flat on his back beneath their paws.

At which point the two wolves began to pant heavily and run their tongues affectionately against Alexander's face, dampening it with their saliva.

"Cubs today..." The silver haired man sighed affectionately.

He raised up his hands to gently rub the beast's muzzles, he was careful however to always place his hands upon top rather the bottom.

The wolves wagged their tails in delight and continued to caress Alexander with their tongues as their paws kneaded affectionately at his body.

That particular greeting done, Alexander began to twist and writhe on the ground, tossing the wolves off of him, but being soft and gentle with the less than hale lupines.

"I swear, you'd think it would get to be one of those ho hum things eventually, but nope, every time I see it, it just gets freakier." Cal muttered unable to tear his eyes away from the bizarre interaction of man and beast.

"Big deal, I could do that if I wanted to, I just don't want to get wolf slobber all over me." Mirri insisted, completely unshaken by this turn of events.

When Alexander managed to toss the two wolves away from him, the rest of the pack leaped in, eager to join the game. Just like their leader these wolves showered Alexander in affection and had no desire to harm him in the slightest.

"They know their alpha." Florence reflected, her voice a mix of pride and good humor.

A moment later Alexander managed to win free of the wolves long enough to rise to his knees. In response the wolves immediately ceased with their playful romping.

Instead, they began to slowly approach Alexander with new found reverence in their posture. The silver haired man said nothing, but no words were needed.

One by one starting with the black wolf, they rubbed their muzzle (always using the bridge of their nose) against the underside of Alexander's chin. When the ritual was completed, he stood up straight, a faint smile on his lips.

"You can come with us if you want, for a while at least, I'll share what I can share." He promised them.

"Just don't share too much of my stuff..." James insisted.

Then the young man flushed nearly as red as his outfit.

"I mean, we're trying to use the jars of preservation to keep meat fresh for the first time, and I'm not sure if it'll really work..." He muttered softly, his eyes downcast.

"Don't worry about it Kitten, we've been with him longer so he won't share and share and share alike too much. Your food is my food after all." She insisted.

It was hard to say how much of the conversation the wolves understood, but evidently the meaning of Alexander's offer had been perfectly clear to them. They wagged their tails and yipped in agreement, all too eager to obey.

Looking around at the wolves, Alexander did a little quick counting.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven twelve, thirteen. Thirteen?" The silver haired man was bemused by the realization of exactly how many wolves he was dealing with.

"There shouldn't be this many of you hunting together not unless..." The sad truth struck him quickly, for it tallied perfectly with everything else he had seen so far.

The only reason why a pack would end up growing quite this large would be if the hunting was so bad that two separate packs had been forced to merge together and share hunting territory. These wolves were having an especially rough year, assuming it wasn't "several especially rough years" instead.

The group struck out again, marching in the direction of the sun, alongside their new lupine companions. The big black wolf took pride of place at Alexander's right side, with other smaller gray one (who was female and thus obviously the black one's mate) right beside him.

"So what are their names?" James asked, as if worried about needing to win his way back into the wolves' good graces after his prior display of selfishness.

"Surehunt and Swiftpaw." Alexander answered at once.

"Really?" The young man inquired enthusiastically.

"James, I've been over this before, wolves don't have names the way that we do. Only egotistical werewolves go around calling themselves by such extravagant titles." Alexander sighed in irritation.

"Clearly you speak from great experience on the subject Mr. Diamondclaw." Florence Bastien pointedly interjected.

"Hey, I earned my ego the old fashioned way, by maiming or mating with everyone who challenged it." The silver haired man insisted defensively.

"Shocked as I am to say this… but getting back to the original topic, do wolves just call each other 'hey you' all the time then?" Cal Wright chuckled to himself.

The black pelted wolf barked something.

"He goes by Gavin." Alexander explained to the others.

"Pleasure to meet you Gavin, I'm James Firecat." James introduced himself.

It is not easy for wolves to convey complete and utter exasperated derision, but somehow Gavin managed it before he barked something else.

"No, you can't chase him, even if he is an omega. He's my omega, and that makes him the most important omega in the world." Alexander insisted.

The wolf whined in disappointment.

Suddenly the group's ears were filled by the sound of a cracking whip, the creak of wheels, and the neighing of a horse. Every single one of the bakers dozen worth of wolves accompanying the group suddenly went still.

They sat down on their haunches, and turned their heads in the sound's direction as a ragged looking wagon came bouncing into view. Its driver was in a great hurry, too great a hurry.

A single wheel struck a single stone at exactly the wrong angle and the wheel came loose. It rolled away from the wagon, which promptly spilled over on its side.

The pathetic nag that had been pulling the wagon instantly began to tug and yank at its harness with a desperate urgency. It could see the oversized wolf pack that lay directly ahead of it, but it could do nothing to move the wagon now, leaving it completely trapped in place.

The wolves approved of this. They approved of it so greatly that they began to thump their tails against the ground in delight and a joyous howl broke out amongst the pack.

"No, I didn't do it, I already told you, I'm not a god. It was just luck. Besides, you're not allowed to eat it. Not unless I can convince its owner to let you." Alexander insisted.

What he left unsaid was given how ragged the beast looked, being eaten by wolves might be a net decrease in how much it was suffering.

Alexander and the group approached the fallen carriage, with the wolves keeping a few paces behind him. The carriage's driver proved to be a woman of considerable years, and surely considerable hunger given how loosely her clothing lay upon her. The woman's hair had gone white with age, and her blue eyes gazed carefully upon the six approaching adventurers, paying particular attention to their leader.

"The wolves love you, but I do not believe you are an akara..." The old woman declared, squinting slightly.

Alexander for his part gave the woman a close examination of his own, then turned his eye on her fallen carriage.

Though he had never met the woman before, he could recognize the make of her wagon, it was a vistani vardo.

"I wish I could have deeds worthy enough to match the love and loyalty they show me. As it stands, I just try my best." Alexander declared, bending down slightly to ruffle Gavin's fur.

"If you and your friends mean me no ill will, perhaps you could help right my carriage? I have precious little to offer, but will do you honest service for any assistance you can spare." The vistana explained.

"I like to know the name of a woman before I do strenuous acts of physical exertion for her. I'm Alexander Diamondclaw." The silver haired man introduced himself.

"Marda, sister of Callian, one of the few of my people who remain in G'Henna." Marda likewise introduced herself.

"Two points, and then I promise I'll help. One, did your sister call you Mard, and second, we're really in G'Henna?" Alexander pressed the woman.

"Yes is the answer to both questions." The aged vistana replied quickly.

An irrepressible smile came to Alexander's lips as he turned to his own companions.

"James, Mirri, help me get this vardo righted. G'Henna! After all the years I've wandered the Core and the strange places beyond it, I've finally found my way to G'Henna!" Alexander declared exuberantly.

"What's so great about G'Henna, wherever it is? Honestly we've been to some pretty horrible places in the past, so while this may not be the worst, it is still right up there with Keening for the most desolate!" Cal pointed out, though he was unable to keep a small note of pleasure out of his voice.

Most likely because he hadn't been selected to take part in said strenuous acts of physical exertion.

"You want to know why I'm so enthusiastic about being in G'Henna Cal? Because G'Henna is the land of milk and honey. Okay, that's a poor choice of words given that all the wolves, people, and horses we've met look like they haven't had a decent meal for days. So instead, let me just say that G'Henna is the land of hops and barely.

All of my favorite alcoholic beverages have come from G'Henna! Okay that is a bit of a lie also, there have been some especially wonderful lagers that brave heroes managed to smuggle out of Falkovnia.

Still, Falkovnia vintages tend to be very hit and miss, while I've almost never drunk a G'Hennan vintage that I didn't like. Alas, just as I was seriously getting into drinking, G'Henna stopped exporting the stuff.

Then when one day it suddenly vanished from the Core entirely. Do you know how horrible it is to love a vintage that is impossible to find? Now that we're actually in G'Henna though, we're not going to leave before I get a chance to purchase a hundred bottles and store them in Devi's bag of holding! We might run out eventually, but not for a very long time!" The silver haired man declared, a wide smile on his lips.

"You are, and always have been a great inspiration to us all Alex..." Florence Bastien reflected.

"Hey, I'm a simple man with simple desires. Besides, acquiring the local vintages is something that I'll actually have to make an effort to accomplish. It is not like having a showdown with the local darklord, the Mists will take care of that just fine even if I only sit around and twiddle my thumbs.

Not that he, or she, doesn't have it coming. Especially if they're the one responsible for why this place stopped exporting liquor." Alexander Diamondclaw insisted.

Then he placed his hands upon the edge of the overturned wagon.

"That's not much of a horse you have there, but it is better than nothing. Can you get it pulling while we push?" He advised Marda.

The vistani woman nodded, and did what she could to encourage her mount while Alexander, Mirri and James got to work.

Between the gaunt horse, the tall man, the young man, and the woman the four managed to heft the carriage off the ground momentarily. Marda swiftly attached a new wheel to the vardo, and managed to attach it tightly enough that the wagon would remain upright.

Once that task was completed, the horse began to paw the ground nervously, looking out at the oversized wolf pack who looked back at it all too eagerly.

"There, now that my vardo is fixed, now how did you meet my sister?" Marda inquired.

Ten awkward eyes and five silent mouths turned in Alexander's direction, happy to let the group's leader handle that particular question.

"We ran into her as we came out of the Mists, but she had already been mortally wounded." The silver haired man explained.

He did not say who or what she had been mortally wounded by.

"We were just minding our own business in Lamordia beforehand, trying to visit my folks in fact. A real shame too, there's nothing like a Lamordian summer to make a man feel like there's no need to shoot yourself in the head before he'll go crazy from cabin fever..." The alchemist added, hoping to change the subject before Marda could ask on the obvious question.

There wasn't much to be gained from his efforts though, the old vistana seemed more than canny enough to deduce the cause of her sister's death.

"You must be no stranger to hard choices, but that is all to the good at the moment. G'Henna is not an easy land for anyone. I never would have stayed here so long, but my nephew Petchko chose to become a priest of Zhakata." She informed them, though her eyes were focused mainly on the still bloody muzzles of the nearby wolves.

"First you met my sister in her final moments, and now you have helped me. This was not a chance encounter, the forces of Fate have surely touched us all this day. Come inside and let me cast the Tarokka for you." She offered.

Alexander knew better than to refuse to have his future told by a Tarokka deck, at least when it was in the hands of an elderly vistana woman.

Such women were all too likely to have only reached such a ripe old age because they possessed some measure of future sight. That said, the longer that Alexander gazed at Marda the more sure he became of something.

"Would you like some of our food first?" He finally asked, feeling unsettled by just how thin the woman was.

"Yes. Please." Marda gasped without a moment's hesitation.

There was no trace of vistani mysticism in her response, only raw, naked, hunger.

Devi reached into her bag of holding and from it produced an only slightly stale loaf of bread. Before she could get a chance to hand it over, Marda quickly snatched it up, then began to gobble it down with great abandon.

She managed to consume about a fourth of the loaf before Devi's hand seized those of the older woman in a vice like grip.

"No, that's how you kill yourself. Eat slower." The elf insisted.

Marda looked back at Devi, but the elf's brown eyes did not waver in the slightest. She was willing to match Marda gaze for gaze, waiting for the vistana to back down and admit her mistake.

People who did such things often needed the lifespan of an elf if they wished to have any hope of success.

At the moment though, Marda was perfectly willing to swallow her pride, so long as she also got to swallow some more of the bread.

Her body relaxed, and slowly so did Devi's. The elf next retrieved a small canteen full of water and passed it over. Marda ate at a more sedate pace, and washed the bread down with water, consuming every last crumb and completely emptying the bottle.

"Your gifts are much appreciated. I will do what little I can to repay you… now then, shall we enter my vardo so that I might preform a reading?" She offered, her voice more confident now that she'd gotten something to eat.

"Wait here..." Alexander informed the wolves, pointedly refraining from using the phase "stay" to instruct them.

The wolves began to paw at the ground, clearly upset by the prospect of having to sit and starve while perfectly edible horseflesh (even if the 'flesh' in question looked to be little more than skin and bones) was less than a dozen feet away.

"Be good and I'll share some of our jerky with you. It is not as good as fresh meat, but I won't make my Omega give what he has little enough of already." Alexander offered.

Gavin growled something back in clear irritation.

"Yes I realize they're supposed to eat last, but his diet is a little different than yours." The silver haired man insisted.

Then he followed Marda into the vardo.

Inside the wagon was cramped, and its owner choose to sit before a small table covered with a ragged edged black cloth. For the moment Marda was busy sorting out various little nicknacks and items of some doubtlessly occult purpose, trying to restore some sense of order to the place's oh so recently over turned interior.

"The tarokka is an ancient tool, a powerful tool, but it is also a delicate tool. Everything must be in balance first." She insisted.

As the others followed after Alexander, he held out his hands calmly.

"Take as much time as you desire. I know better than to try and rush a vistani." He replied.

Precious few were those who found themselves in a position to coerce one of the wandering people, and even fewer still were those who did not come to regret the decision to do so.

Instead, he simply sought to make himself comfortable, as did his five companions, though between them and the vardo's owner it was growing increasingly cramped. After having carefully arranged several newly lit candles, positioned a cheap pewter medallion, along with a few other minor totems and icons upon the table, Marda was finally ready.

With one bony finger she drew an invisible circle over her heart.

"We begin. Please, shuffle the cards until they are ready." The white haired woman instructed.

Alexander gingerly picked up the deck of Tarokka cards that she passed across the table to him. The cards were warm to the touch, as if alive. The adventurer knew that being asked to personally shuffle a vistana's deck was a surefire way to make the reading especially portentous to the one doing the shuffling.

It was also a show of great respect, for a proper Tarokka deck could only be crafted in the light of a full moon, some took months to complete, others years. Alexander shuffled the cards until the comfortable warmth their touch brought his fingers vanished, leaving them feeling no different than any other pieces of paper. Taking this for the appropriate sign he passed the deck back.

Marda did not shuffle or even cut the deck herself for fear or disrupting the delicate state Alexander had left the cards in. Instead, she began to lay cards one by one in a circular pattern, with a sixth final card in the center.

"Let us turn to the future. We open our eyes to that which awaits, so that by seeing our path more clearly, we will not stumble on it! The path you tread is a circle of life, of death, of deceit and hope. You have been brought here because of one in G'Henna who currently languishes in despair." The aged woman declared solemnly, then her calloused hand revealed the first card.

It showed the horrific sight of a man with the head of a beast seated upon a throne grasping a scepter of some sort. Every single visible bone in his body seemed to bend at odd or unnatural angles, from his elbows to and knees to even his fingers.

"This is the focus of your struggles, and I am not surprised to see you have drawn the darklord upright..." She reflected, her voice growing more powerful and confident as the ritual continued.

"I am, this means that it can't show up reversed at some other point in the reading. Unless your deck decides to suddenly gain a second copy of course." Alexander chuckled.

It was common knowledge that a Tarroka deck contained only one of each card, but it was not unheard of (at least in campfire stories) for it to suddenly gain extra copies of a card should it be needed for a particularly portentous reading.

It was even whispered that in some strange cases, cards that had never been in the deck to begin with would emerge.

"In the upright position this card depicts a figure of both great evil and great power. There is only one such man in all of G'Henna: Yagno Petrovna, the High Priest of Zhakata." Marda insisted.

"He's still the High Priest? He must be in what… his eighties by now? Or do you mean he had a son who took over for him?" Mirri Catwarrior cut in.

She'd had a few interactions (which was still more than any of the others) with worshipers of Zhakata in the past, and so their High Priest's name was familiar to her.

"It is the same Yagno Petrovna, there has only ever been one high priest of Zhakata. Yes he is growing older, but age alone has not been enough to dull his wits, or his appetite to see Zhakata exalted above all other gods. Do not take him lightly, for there are many who serve him, both openly and in secret." She cautioned the younger woman.

"Including, possibly, you? The Vistani have a cozy enough relationship with the Darklord of Barovia." Cal Wright pointed out, earning him an elbow to the midsection from Devi Skye.

"My sister and I were fleeing from more than just wolves before our paths crossed… Yagno's patience for those who are not utterly beholden to him is extremely thin. He has decided recently to deal with those few of my people who live in his land.

I was forced to flee the city of Zhukar scarcely ahead of a vicious mob. There is no love lost between myself and Yagno Petrovna. It would bring nothing but joy to my heart to see him brought low, his temple desecrated, and his high altar smashed. Alas, there are powers in this land that can turn aside even a Vistani curse, and at the moment they choose to grant Yagno their protection." Marda insisted.

Alexander nodded slowly, though Vistani might often choose to hide their true meaning behind carefully chosen words when dealing with giorgio, they would not make such a plain spoken declaration of hatred unless they well and truly meant it.

"If I might continue?" She coughed, already fingering the next card she planned to reveal.

Alexander gave her a small nod and she at once continued.

"This card represents the past..." She declared solemnly as she flipped it over.

The card depicted a hooded figure with skeletal hands making arcane gestures over eight tombstones as rotted corpses began to rise from their graves.

"Hmmm, the Necromancer card. It represents dire magics, yet such spell work always claims a price, and it is always more than its caster expected. Some great evil magical ritual must have been worked in G'Henna's past, perhaps before I even first arrived." She warned the six.

Then seeing that this time they had no commentary of their own to offer she continued revealing the third card.

It bore the imaged of a silhouetted man looking out from a high tower window. The window was barred and no other light was visible except that cast by a crescent moon in the sky.

"This card, the Donjon is the present. Alas, its meaning is unclear. Does it speak of a particular prisoner currently in Yagno's grasp? Does it say that all of us here in G'Henna are already his prisoners? Perhaps some even seek to make the priest himself a prisoner! It would be no more than he deserves!" She insisted with a wicked cackle before revealing the fourth card.

Upon it was the image of a skeletal horse rearing up, perched upon its back a skull faced rider in a black cloak. The horse itself snorted fire while its rider carried a wicked looking scythe that had just claimed the head of a corpse resting at the horse's hooves.

"Here is a window to the future, and through it we can see the horseman. He is a harbinger of great destruction, Yagno's final hour could be at hand, or perhaps he is preparing to bring about the destruction of another." She warned them, unable to hide a tinge of fear from her voice.

Marda sought solace in the revelation of the fifth card.

It depicted a Vistani vardo, futilely shining a lamp into an impenetrable fog bank as it rolled along to some unknown fate.

"This card is the season of Fate, the strange powers which will influence your path. See? The circle closes with the Mists card. Everything you see will be obscured, yet you have the power to shape your own destiny if only you can perceive the truth." She insisted, comforted by a card that was at its worst simply ambiguous.

Slowly she laid her hand on the final card which lay amid the other five.

"Here is the final card, here is the key to the future, hidden among smoke and mirrors. Here among the despair that pervades this land, hope ignites like a tiny flame in the dark of night." She whispered so softly that all of her guests had to lean forward to hear her clearly.

Then she flipped over the card.

It showed a colorfully dressed young Vistani woman walking down a crowded street. With one hand she was stealthily lifting the purse of a very plump man in an overly extravagant outfit, while the other tossed a coin to a shabbily dressed man sitting with an empty bowl before him and a look of abject misery upon his face.

"The Swashbuckler. A thief by in name but not truly in deed, for they steal only from those who have too much already. Its presence here means that only the most clever will succeed, and even then only by stealing what others ignore or use for ill to instead serve a more noble end." Marda finished her reading.

"You think I am the 'swashbuckler' who has come to G'Henna, and who by some noble theft will set right all the land's ills? I doubt it will be a simple matter of pilfering Yagno Petrovna's fanciest cloak and hat, then declaring that I am the new High Priest." Alexander pondered, his voice a strange mix of rue and amusement.

"No, it will not be easy. Nothing in G'Henna is easy, even simply surviving. Still, you are the first band of travelers fresh from the Mists I have encountered in far too long." Marda insisted.

Then she suddenly leaned forward and rested her bony hands upon Alexander's cheeks. Her cold palms slowly shifted their way across his face, taking special care to rub several times up against the black eye patch he wore over his right eye.

"You have the face of a man but the soul of a beast.

Alas I have no such easy way of knowing the nature of your heart, other than by your deeds of course. Go further into G'Henna, go to Zhukar, the starving city that serves as its capital. If you do nothing else there, my nephew should be told of his mother's fate so that he at least does not suffer the pains of uncertainty." The white haired woman insisted.

Then she began to gather up the six cards and shuffle them back into the deck. As she did so however her aged fingers slipped slightly, and one card from the deck slid free to land face up and properly oriented.

The card depicted a furtively dressed man in a dark cloak who was silhouetted by the light of a full moon.

"The traitor..." Hissed Marda in anger and fear.

"That's not a good sign is it?" Cal asked, even though he already knowing inevitable answer.

"No. While many cards in this deck require great wisdom and the gifts of a seer to interpret correctly, that card alas speaks for itself all too plainly.

You will be betrayed in the future. Guard yourselves as best you can against the inevitable and seek to limit the damage done to you. Do not seek to prevent the betrayal though… what the Tarroka deck has spoke will come to pass one way or another, and to seek to thwart it is to make an enemy of Fate itself." She warned them in her most dire turns yet. Then she began to shuffle the card back into the deck and this time no mistakes were made.

The group of adventurers shuffled around so that Alexander could be the first one out. Gavin and the other wolves were waiting for him, still clearly upset (but not hostile) over the fact that they hadn't been allowed to eat Marda's horse.

"Well done." Alexander greeted him cheerfully.

Gavin barked something at him.

"A fair enough point. Do you know the way to Zhukar?" Alexander asked the wolf, as if he would prefer the animal's directions to those a vistana might give him.

Gavin tilted his head to the side slightly and Alexander clarified.

"Lots of humans, high stone and brick walls,, impossible to hunt?" He explained.

Gavin's barked out something that "sounded" extremely confident but refrained from any frivolous tail wagging this time.

"Splendid, if you can show us the way I promise I'll hunt anything I find on four legs that doesn't belong to someone. I'll even hunt prey on two legs so long as it isn't sentient." Alexander promised the wolf.

Gavin now turned that lupinely sardonic expression he had once used upon James Firecat on Alexander Diamondclaw himself.

"Really? That bad? Why am I even surprised, a place stops making beer and everything goes straight to hell in a handbasket. Come along all the same, I'll try and find food for you if I had to shoot down a bird, leave its carcass out for the jackals and vultures, then kill them for you to feast upon." He promised.

Gavin still seemed far from convinced, but he and his pack mates struck out into the sounding desolate landscape inviting the adventurers to follow.

End Chapter

AN: Wow, so much longer than most of my opening chapters. What can I say, I had a lot of stuff I wanted to cover with this one. Also yes the wolves react to Alex differently here than they did in Book 2.

Blame that on the wolves of Vorostokov being more surely than most wolves due to them constantly being mind controlled and used as shock troops by Gregor Zolnik (it is no fun for humans to be chased by wolves, but it is no picnic for the wolves who just to hunt breed and survive being forced to attack heavily armed humans), or Alex was purposely doing whatever he could to tone down his "charm wolf" aura so that Mikhail would have a chance to learn how to stand on his own two (well four at the time) feet.

Also the word "akara" is the Vistani equivalent of "vampire". I may have misspelled it however, because I'm spelling it phonetically based on my audio book of Vampire of the Mist. If any of you have the actual book and know how it properly spelled, let me know and I'll change it.

Finally the long delay of this chapter being published brought to you by me getting the Twilight Struggle app and playing it a lot.


	2. Chapter 2

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Two: You take it on faith, you take it to the heart, the waaaiiiting is the hardest part.

"I'm great at hunting aren't I?" Asked Alexander Diamondclaw, in an understandably pleased tone of voice.

Gavin and the other wolves were too busy chewing at the moment to answer.

Over the course of their journey to Zhukar the adventurers had come across a small group of goats with no collars. The herbivores had sought to flee form the wolfpack onto a rocky outcropping where even the hungry beasts would not dare pursue them.

"By which you mean, you're great at getting lucky and telling others to do all the work, right Boss?" Cal Wright inquired a bit crossly.

The goats' strategy was perfectly sound for dealing with four legged predators but under Alexander's directions Cal had dispatched one goat after another with the aid of his trusty rifle Phoenix. The impact of his bullets frequently knocked the goats from their place of safety onto the rocks below, both bringing their corpses closer to hand and helping to tenderize the meat.

Not that they had much in the way of meat of course. Just like everything (and everyone) else the six had encountered in G'Henna, the goats had looked like they were on the point of starvation.

Still, Gavin and his pack were in no shape to turn up their noses at any possible meal, and had immediately begun feasting with gusto upon the fallen goats.

"It is called delegation Beta. It means that I know when it is best to let to let other members of my pack rise to the occasion." Alexander insisted, the smile never leaving his lips.

After having manged to keep Cal relatively happy (or as happy as the alchemist ever was), Alexander had turned his attention to other matters. Thanks to a certain amount of cajolery he eventually convinced Gavin to let James Firecat feast on the fallen goats as well.

The young man had promptly joined in no less eagerly. Unlike the wolves however, after chewing the meat from a goat's leg he tossed away the bone, completely satisfied. By comparison, even after chewing the marrow from any bones they could find (gobbling up the meat first of course) Gavin and the wolves still had a faint air of hunger about them. It was hard to be too surprised by that though, while James might be wiry and lean, he still looked quite well fed next to the wolves.

Once the meal was over, adventurers and the wolves alike settled down for the evening.

As the sun dipped below the horizon the already desolate landscape of G'Henna became even more inhospitable, the temperature plummeting at a rate not too unlike the goats in their final moments.

Still, there were actions that could be taken to find some measure of protection from the chill night air.

"I am not going to wake up dead, I am not going to wake up dead..." Cal Wright couldn't help but repeat to himself over and over again.

The alchemist was currently laying with his head against one wolf's chest like an awkward furry, rather bony pillow.

The wolf barked something back that most likely to amounted to how it was none too enthusiastic about the arrangement either.

Not that either man or wolf had much of a choice in the matter. Devi had produced a large piece of cloth from her bag of holding, and spread it across the ground (more to keep said ground from sucking all the warmth from their bodies than out of any traditional standards of "comfort") and now they all lay in one huge intertwined bundles of arms, legs, hands, feet, paws, and tails.

"I've had worse." Insisted Devi as a pair of skinny wolves lay sprawled on either side of her.

"If they had any intention of hurting us they would have shown it a long time ago. Wolves aren't exactly known for their duplicity." Florence Bastien pointed out calmly.

"Yeah, 'wolves aren't known for their duplicity', tell that one in Kartakass and they'll laugh you out of the inn, at which point the wolves waiting outside will rip you to shreds." The dirty blond haired man continued to grouse.

"Humans who cloak themselves in the skin of wolves, and wolves who cloak themselves in the skin of humans are duplicitous, everyday wolves just get caught in the crossfire." Alexander insisted.

Gavin meanwhile had chosen to climb completely on top of Alexander, so as to put as distance as possible between himself and the cold ground.

"Wolves may not be duplicitous but that doesn't mean they're sanitary. If I wake up with flees, I'm blaming you Boss." The alchemist added.

Gavin barked something that sounded darkly humorous, at least to Alexander's ears.

"You don't need to worry about that Cal, Gavin and his packmates got hungry enough to eat each others' flees a long time ago." The silver haired man insisted.

"G'Henna, come for our beautiful scenery, stay because you won't have a choice after you've starved to death!" Cal declared forlornly.

"The liquor Cal, don't forget the liquor! That's the real reason to stay in G'Henna." Alexander insisted, still managing to sound delighted despite their deary surroundings.

Then before the argument could go any further he tilted himself to the side slightly (careful not to dislodge Gavin) and fell asleep.

XXX XXX XXX

The morning came eventually, and though G'Henna was warmer in the sunlight, it made no more appealing a sight.

In fact, the further the group pressed on the warmer it became. Soon enough the adventurers found it necessary to remove canteens from Devi's bag of holding and started passing them around.

Seeing how heavily Gavin and his pack mates were panting beneath the sun's punishing rays Alexander took the time to empty several canteens down various lupine throats to help the beasts cope.

"You know it is really great that you finally managed to figure out how to magically summon water and not just purify it Florence!" James Firecat declared exuberantly after taking a few moments to quench his own thirst.

"Markovia was a learning experience." The green clad woman admitted, helping herself to a canteen of her own.

"Air, water, food, shelter, warmth. Anything that helps us worry less about them is an important improvement." Devi insisted with a faint smile from her lips after swallowing her own mouthful of water.

"All I learned from Markovia is that dolphins are weird and there's a good reason I don't get along with most people." Mirri Catwarrior sighed.

She alone among the group had never requested a canteen from Devi. Not only that, but both she and Florence (unlike the other four) had yet to perspire from the rising temperature.

Even with occasional stops to drink, the group still made good progress and before noon they had to part ways with their lupine guides. While Gavin was obviously less than enthusiastic about that prospect, Alexander he knew better than to try and accompany the adventurers into a human city. Even one that seemed to be as run down and decrepit as Zhukar proved to be.

Rising above the barren land were massive walls, whose eroded and worn frames helped form the weathered wooden beams of the city's gate. Guards stood posted at the gate with cloth overhangings above them so that they were granted some shade in which to stand.

The guards wore red arm bands, red hoods, and had red ribbons tied to the hafts of their pikes. As the group drew within a dozen or so paces of the walls, a pair of guards stepped forward, hands raised in a silent command to halt.

"Welcome in the name of the great Yagno Petrovna, high priest and First Servant of great Zhakata. State your name and purpose in Zhukar!" Insisted the brown eyed soldier with black hair poking out from beneath his helmet.

He spoke the words in a slow emotionless manner which suggested they were a part of an officially prepared speech rather than some spur of the moment declaration. They came out a touch haltingly though, suggesting that the words in question were not routinely spoken.

"Alexander Diamondclaw, Florence Bastien, Cal Wright, Devi Skye, Mirri Catwarrior and James Firecat. We're travelers brought here by the Mists. At the moment all we're truly interested in is finding some lodgings for the night and general supplies." Alexander answered.

Seeing that the silver haired man had no overtly hostile intentions the soldier relaxed his grip slightly.

"If your come with peace in your heart and piety before Zhakata in your soul then you are free to enter Zhukar." He declared proudly.

"What exactly defines 'piety before Zhakata' just to be clear?" Cal pipped up, though unlike most of his interjections this one didn't earned him a physical rebuke. The soldier coughed lightly and raised the visor of his helmet to take a swig from his own canteen before answering.

"Arcane magic is forbidden, it is an affront to Zhakata for man to trifle in things he was not meant to know and powers he was never meant to wield. Divine magic or proselytizing from any who do not worship Zhakata is also forbidden.

If you contribute your food in the morning to Zhakata's Taking you may in turn receive food every other day at sunset during the ritual of Zhakata's Dole, but it is illegal to buy or sell food. I'm saddened to say that you have arrived during one of the days when the Dole will not take place." The guard explained, in a straight to the point but not unfriendly manner.

The six adventurers just stood there in consternation for a few moments.

"So, just to be clear, it isn't illegal for us not to believe in Zhakata, so long as we don' say anything about it or cast any magic?" Devi finally ventured cautiously.

"Correct, we are by no means uncivilized." The soldier insisted, sounding a touch ashamed (either of himself or his city it was hard to tell) over this point.

"Any other laws I should be aware of? I have no desire to flout the hand of friendship this city has offered me, but customs tend to vary widely when one is transported by the Mists. One land's crime may be another's cherished sacrament.

To pick an example at random, it was once my less than great pleasure to find myself in a town where it was illegal to end a conversation without laughing. Ha." The final word came out in a complete and utterly emotionless deadpan.

"Those who believe in Zhakata must fast for three days a week, visitors need only do it for two." The guard declared with an air of strained joviality, as if he realized this was not going to be pleasant news.

Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, Alexander finally asked a question on the matter which had occupied his mind since the conversation started.

"You said that it was illegal to buy or purchase food. Does that include water, and possibly even more importantly, does it include beverages of a more distilled nature?" He pressed.

"Water is always acceptable and never prohibited. As for your other question, it is not forbidden, but it is dreadfully scarce. Much of what our fellow city of Dervich produces the High Priest requires for sacramental uses." The soldier replied.

"I see." Alexander declared in an empty emotionless voice.

There was only the faintest quiver of his right eyebrow.

"Well, if that truly does cover everything, I and my companions will be now enter Zhukar." He decided.

"There is an addendum to 'peace in your hearts' that we must attend to first. Declare whatever weapons you have and allow them to peace bonded." The soldier insisted, producing a ball of thick orange string.

"This is Wolf Claw." Alexander offered unstrapping the sword he wore across his back and holding it out to the solider.

It took no time at all for the soldier to tie some orange bands that would make it impossible for the blade to leave its scabbard.

"This is Phoenix, and I have a few more pistols on my belt." Cal offered, holding out his rifle.

The soldier stared at it for a moment, peace bonding a sword was clearly a familiar procedure to him, but it was equally clear that he had next to no knowledge of firearms.

"I'll unload it… like a crossbow?" Cal offered, not wanting to spend all day waiting for the guard to figure out how to best to handle his weapons.

"That would be most satisfactory." The soldier agreed instantly.

Cal emptied the gun's chamber, and after seeing the process the guard decided to tie an orange knot around the a section of Phoenix's breech which should make it impossible to reload. He twisted similar knots around the chamber of every single one of Cal's pistols in turn once they were unloaded.

"Just this." Devi answered holding out her arm with the flail still wrapped around it.

The soldier not wanting to force Devi to spend the entire trip with the flail bound to her arm refrained from tying any knots to it. Likewise he saw nothing impermissible about Florence's staff.

"Search me." Mirri Catwarrior offered, holding up her gloved hands passively, quite confident that there were no weapons about her body… other than her body itself.

"This could take a while..." The final member of the group admitted as he approached the guard with a touch of embarrassment upon his face.

James Firecat parted his red jacket.

Sown into its folds were at least a dozen brightly shining knives, and one or two that didn't shine due to being crafted from wood, human bone, or other exotic materials.

Indeed peace binding them did take a while.

Once the process was finally complete, the guard stood back with a smile on his face.

"You are free to enter Zhukar and seek shelter from the desert's heat..." He proudly declared before wrapping out a complex series of knocks on a nearby wall.

The gates of Zhukar swung open to allow them entry, and as they walked forward Alexander's keen ears picked up a single stray comment being whispered between the guards.

"Rega will want to hear of this…." One told the other.

The silver haired man did not react in the slightest, instead simply focusing on getting inside the city.

At the very least his line about "shelter from the desert's heat" proved to be more than just proverbial. Either because of the cobblestone streets, the large stone walls, or some minor magic inherent to the city itself, once the gates closed behind them, the temperature abruptly dropped somewhere between ten and twenty degrees.

A more welcome change was hard to imagine all things considered. Not that Zhukar seemed to be very welcoming in any other way.

The city seemed every bit as run down (if not more) on the inside as it had from the outside. There were cobblestones missing from the street, and not a single building looked as if it had been constructed within the last decade.

The only aspect of the city that had any shine at all was the surprisingly large amounts of ivory which was evidently in such surplus that it could be used as both building material and general decoration.

The soldiers at the gate like most men of their profession had looked healthy, if a little strained by the heat. The citizens of Zhukar were another mater entirely, just like Marda, Callian, and the animals the group had encountered, they all looked dreadfully thin.

While the adventures were by no means overweight (fat doesn't tend to last long when your profession makes fighting or fleeing for your life a painfully mundane occurrence) they all looked like walruses among seals next to the half starved populace of Zhukar.

A number of suspicious blue eyes (it was not the only eye color present among the people of Zhukar, but it was surely the dominant one) fell upon the new arrivals.

It didn't help that they were dressed in bright colors while the people of Zhukar preferred various drab browns, grays, or whatever other color their clothing might have turned over time. James' bright red outfit seemed to draw the most attention though no one was willing to speak directly to the new comers.

There was plenty of furtive mumbling of course, but by this point in his life Alexander considered that no less inevitable than the sunrise.

For the first hour or so the group had simply walked this way and that, trying to get a feel for the city rather than worrying about getting anywhere in particular. It was not especially hard to get a feel for Zhukar, it was the feeling of hunger gnawing at an empty stomach multiplied several thousand times over.

Eventually the group headed for the "Old City" section of Zhukar where supposedly rooms could be found at reasonable prices. The buildings in this part of the city looked no finer than most of the others (though they did not look too much worse either) and did little to entice perspective clients.

There were no bright wooden carving or large signs declaring a particular establishment's name. The only proof that the buildings in question were not private residences was that many of them had dilapidated signs reading "vacancy" out in front of them.

After seeing enough such unimpressive signs to be certain that there was likely to be little difference in the accommodations offered, Alexander entered one of them at random. A gaunt (just like nearly everyone else in Zhukar) man with black hair and blue eyes gazed out from behind a wooden desk.

He did not offer them any sort of welcoming greeting or invitation to stay the night, instead he only stared deeply at Alexander and his companions. Since the burden of starting a conversation seemed to rest upon him, Alexander decided to first take a few moments to inspect the building in greater detail.

He could probably spend the night here without worrying about dying because the building had collapsed in on itself, so there was that.

"Is this an inn?" He eventually asked.

"We're a guesting house." The man half corrected, half agreed with outsider.

"What are your rates?" The silver haired man inquired calmly.

"Twelve silver pieces per person per night for outsiders." The innkeeper answered gruffly.

Zhukar was not the first city that the group had visited where those from far off lands would be expected to pay higher prices, and it would doubtlessly not be the last. If the black haired man had expected the price to divert Alexander's interest he would had needed to name something a bit higher.

"Are there any particular rules we should be aware of if we wish to spend the night?" He added, taking another look around the building.

Most inns offered some form of communal dinning area, or a kitchen to produce meals that the guests could consume in private, here there was no sign or scent of either.

"Since you are outsiders I will put it plainly. I do not know how it is done in foreign lands, but in Zhukar a guesting house is a not a place for strangers to simply meander in and make themselves at home. It is a place where a host may allow his guests to remain the night, if he so chooses. I am still pondering if I wish to have you lot for guests." The man explained bluntly but not exactly rudely.

"Would the firmness of our coin help make up your mind?" Alexander offered, reaching into a pocket of his black outfit and producing a few shining golden coins that would have easily covered the groups stay for a week.

"Do not let the brightness of coins blind you to the truth of a man's soul, such are the teachings of Zhakata." Insisted the guesting house's owner.

He stepped out from behind the desk and began to walk towards Alexander. He was roughly half a foot shorter, and the silver haired man awkwardly half crouched to try and equalize their heights.

"I can tell by sight alone that you are not favored by Zhakata, though at least you do not practice the grievous sin of gluttony." He declared as he slowly examined the half a dozen adventurers up close.

"Greed has always been more my..." Cal began softly before Devi completely silenced him with an elbow to the ribs.

"Who and what do you worship?" The man demanded suddenly.

Alexander's green eye went wide and his tongue went completely still.

The black haired man rose up to his full height, and his half skeletal figure seemed to swell with righteous fury.

"A man who refuses to humble himself in supplication before his betters is a fool. A man without love for a god in his heart, is a man inevitably without love or respect for his fellow men. If he follows the tenants of no faith, his mind is already that of an outlaw even if his actions have not yet become so. What god do you worship?" He demanded a second time.

Alexander's entire body seemed to be rocked by the question. He was painfully silent for a moment… then he bowed his head and spoke.

"I… I had an experience many years back. It was not something I would have actively chosen, but neither was it something I could deny, because it rocked me to my very core. Since that day, the fate of my soul has been in the paws of the Chained Wolf." Alexander finally answered solemnly.

"You have suffered for your faith?" The black haired man insisted on knowing.

"It would be better to say that I am still suffering. The Wolf is not an easy master… but I know the wisdom of supplicating myself before my betters." Alexander declared in a pained tone.

The black haired man extended a hand.

"Leon." He introduced himself.

"Alexander Diamondclaw." The silver haired man replied as he reached out his own black gloved right hand.

"Zhkata's teeth!" Leon exclaimed triumphantly as the pair shook.

"May no shackle ever hold firm against you." Alexander offered in equally reverent tones.

"Will three rooms suit you?" Leon offered as he returned to his desk in order to gather keys.

"Three rooms will be most satisfactory." Alexander agreed.

Keys were handed over from owner to guest, and coins were handed over from guest to owner.

XXX XXX XXX

"So, how many tails did we picked up?" Cal Wright asked as he removed his brown cloak and hung it from a hook.

"Three. Never all at once though, they took turns. One of them was wearing a bright red robe, another was a surprisingly mobile beggar, and the last a young boy with no sign of his parents around." Devi answered calmly.

"Only three? Boss must be loosing his touch." The alchemist pondered.

"We've only walked around, stared at people, and been stared at for a while. Give him some time and we'll have so many people following us they'll be getting in shoving matches." The elf insisted.

"So how many people do you think he'll have to kill before he's able to finally get his hands on that drink he wants?" Cal pondered.

XXX XXX XXX

"I wonder how many people I'll end up killing before I finally get that drink I want..." Alexander Diamondclaw pondered.

"I hope you're not being serious." Florence Bastien countered at once.

Alexander laid back on the room's single bed with his head cupped in his hands.

"As our potion brewing Beta would say, correlation does not imply causation. I'm going to kill people before I leave G'Henna, and I'm going to get that drink I want before I leave G'Henna. I'm not planning on doing the first in pursuit of the second, but they're both going to happen." Alexander insisted.

Florence promptly scooped up the pillow and hurled it at Alexander.

"You're a beast." She muttered, though her lips twitched upwards even as she spoke.

"None beastlier." Alexander agreed with a smile.

XXX XXX XXX

"Come out, come out, little squeaky..." James Firecat was down on his hands and knees before a mouse hole that he'd discovered half hidden beneath their room's bed.

"Do you really expect that to work?" Mirri Catwarrior inquired, as she was currently laying upon the bed in question.

"First time for everything..." James insisted, as a single brown eye watched closely for any sign of movement within the hole.

"Let me know when you get bored of watching and waiting." Mirri insisted, languidly running a gloved hand through her hair.

"Can you believe that Alex was worried about this place not providing meals?" James declared with a wide smile as he something small scuttle around inside the hole.

End Chapter.

AN: Sorry for massive delay between this chapter and the first one, blame it on the fact that I fairly recently picked up Twilight Struggle on the Ipad, and have been having a lot of fun with it. I'm still getting a fair amount of writing done (I have finished chapter three) but proof reading as ever takes longer than it should.

Also if you couldn't figured it out, the Chained Wolf is a complete different entity from the Wolf God of which Alfred Timothy is so fond of/invented/preaches of….


	3. Chapter 3

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Three: Our captain's tastes were simple but his methods were complex

"BONG!"

"BONG!"

"BONG!" The incessant ringing of bells filled the city of G'henna in the early hours of the morning.

If it accomplished nothing else, it did a splendid job driving Alexander Diamondclaw from his room and out into the guesting house's lobby with his hands clamped firmly over his ears. Alexander's silver hair was askew, his black outfit extremely ruffled, and his feet bare.

"ARE WE BEING INVADED?" He half shouted to Leon who was sitting behind the same desk that he'd been at when Alexander first entered yesterday.

"No, the bells are merely announcing that the time has come for Zhakata's Taking. I have sent my son to handle my contribution." He explained.

"What is the lad's name?" Alexander asked, trying to strike up something approaching a normal conversation, and not shout Leon's ears off.

"He's got another two months to go before he's old enough to name. He is a fine lad though, strong in both his limbs and faith, I'm certain that he'll live to see six years of age!" Leon boasted proudly.

Alexander winked repeatedly (it was hard to blink when you wore an eye-patch) and struggled to change the topic of conversation.

"Do you happen to have some wads of cotton, wool, or anything else I could stuff my ears with?" He begged.

"I am afraid not, but as today is a day of Zhakata's Dole, it is also a market day. I'm sure you can find what you seek there..." Leon suggested.

"Well I've heard worse ideas. Thank you for the information Leon, I'm going to go get my mate and then we'll go see what the market is like..." Alexander decided.

XXX XXX XXX

"Nope!" Alexander Diamondclaw decided after taking one step outside the guesting house.

As bad as the tolling of the bells was inside the building, it was infinitely worse out in the open air.

"Alex you've faced down..." Florence began.

The green clad woman was given no chance to finish her comments however as the bells were momentarily drowned out by the thundering sound of Alexander's boots pounding their way up the stairs back to his room.

XXX XXX XXX

The bells rang for a full hour, and only once they finally abated was Alexander willing to leave his room.

The group had previously passed through the (closed at the time) market yesterday so Alexander and Florence had no trouble finding it again that day.

When the market was in operation it was easily the most lively part of Zhukar. Though its many merchants still wore mostly drab clothing, their stalls were often festooned with bright strips of cloth to draw the eyes of perspective clients.

The merchants themselves also often looked simply thin rather than actively starving, and so were less likely to invoke an awkward mix of pity and revulsion.

The market was for the most part similar to many other ones that Alexander had visited, except for a few key differences; there was no food to be found anywhere at any price (though strangely there were still spices) and there were countless small icons carved of various materials for sale.

The statues were by no means all exactly alike but they were too similar not to have started with the same image in mind. To some degree or another they all depicted a powerful bipedal bestial figure with conspicuous claws and teeth, often with a pile of skulls or bones piled around its feet.

Such was the shape of Zhakata the Devourer who every resident of Zhukar seemed to hold in equal parts fear and reference. Theological nick nacks were hardly at the forefront of Alexander's mind, he had a much more important matter to resolve first….

XXX XXX XXX

"I'm sorry sir we are fresh out of wine."

XXX XXX XXX

"I sold my last bottle a week ago."

XXX XXX XXX

"I tithed half what I made to the temple to slake Zhakata's boundless thirst and the other half has already been purchased."

XXX XXX XXX

"Perhaps if you had arrived a month or so back just as spring was coming to an end and the harvest was just being completed…."

XXX XXX XXX

"Alas my stores are empty of such goods..."

XXX XXX XX

"I have none for sale but could I perhaps interest you in a…."

XXX XXX XXX

"That is a most splendid drinking glass you are considering good sir." The black haired merchant reflected as Alexander examined his wears.

"Yes, I can just imagine how splendid it would be… if I had something to fill it with!" Alexander half snarled the second half of the sentence, and needed to make a deliberate effort not to crack or crush the cup he held.

It had been crafted of the same bright ivory which was so much in evidence about Zhukar despite an obvious lack of elephants.

"Please excuse my outburst, it is an excellent piece of work." Alexander amended after having a moment to calm himself.

"My father would be most pleased to hear you say that." The merchant reflected with a slight lowering of the head and forward lean that could best be compared to one fourth of a bow.

"Is he the one who made it?" Alexander inquired, trying once again to make polite conversation on the miniscule chance the merchant might be able to get his hands some of G'Henna's scant liquor supply at a later date.

"It was made from his skull." The merchant explained.

"Excuse me." Alexander mumbled as she slowly and gently put the glass back down on the wooden booth.

Then with his now free hand, he reached into a pocket of his outfit and pulled out a small empty metal canteen.

"Could you repeat that? I think I must have misheard you..." The silver haired man insisted politely.

"The cup you were showing such interest in.. it was made from my recently departed father's skull." The merchant dutifully repeated.

Alexander's fingers tensed. There was a slight squeaking keening sound from within his closed fist.

"This is clearly some quaint G'Hennan tradition that I terribly am unfamiliar with." Alexander inquired in the tone of voice of one who knows he will not enjoy what came next.

"Much of the finest ornamentation of G'Henna is made from human bone." The merchant insisted while spreading his arms wide as if to try and take in all of Zhukar.

Alexander's left eye flickered. None of the "ivory" he had seen inside the city's walls had been ivory. It had been bone, human bone.

"How did he die?" Alexander asked in a voice that was ominously calm.

He looked at the merchant again closely. The general lack of food and aura of decay about Zhukar seemed to add a decade or more to most of its occupants faces, but the man still didn't look quite that old…

"He is among the thrice blessed dead who has been called to Zhakata's side to feast for all eternity, for he died of starvation." The merchant answered.

Alexander looked at the merchant again. He was thin, but not that thin, and his booth seemed to be stocked with merchandise of reasonable quality being sold at respectable prices.

He simply could not craft the various pieces of contradictory data he was seeing into a question without directly insulting the merchant, so he only tilted his head to the side awkwardly, a look of considerable confusion upon his face.

"He chose to prove his love and devotion to Zhakata by engaging in a month long fast during the season of Zhakata's Banquet." The merchant further explained.

"I see." The silver haired man answered.

"Thank you for the charming conversation, you can consider this payment for it." Alexander declared passively, before dumping a crushed twisted lump of metal before the merchant.

Then he promptly headed for the first alley that he could lay eyes upon.

Along the way he walked past a woman in drab clothing, with a young boy and girl hanging close by. The woman looked even more starved than most occupants of Zhukar, as if she hadn't eaten in over a week..

In an "absentminded" motion Alexander shifted the contents of his pockets and ended up dropping a large red berry on the ground before the woman.

Both of the children went for the berry, but at the sight of the ripe fruit the woman acted first and snatched it up into the air.

Then with a fanatical look in her blue eyes, she squeezed.

Red liquid dripped down form her hands and dyed the cobblestones before her crimson.

"Children… do not fear for me… I need no food of the body… for Zhakata shall grant me nourishment of the soul!" The woman croaked out.

Alexander was grateful to discover that the alley he'd selected came to a dead end, it allowed him to beat his head against it for ten or so seconds straight, before simply leaning his head against it in bitter resignation. From his throat came something halfway between dry heaving and a feral scream of rage.

"Still happy to be in G'Henna Alex?" Florence asked, having followed her companion.

Alexander Diamondclaw produced a few more inarticulate sounds before finally managing to speak actual words from between teeth gritted so firmly as to be painful.

"Remind me again, why is killing EVERYONE I hate not a valid moral code Florence? The sooner you do it the better..." He snarled.

Florence Bastien took Alexander's long silver hair in her hands and began to stroke it like the mane of a frightened horse.

"Your thirst can only be slaked by the blood of your foes. No sound can grant you greater joy than the crunch of their bones as you tread upon them. You are a hunter with no equal." Florence cooed softly.

"That's not the sage wisdom I asked for. Do you really want me to have an eye-patch emergency?" Alexander gasped in amazement.

"If you want me to remind you of the fact that you're not a bloodthirsty monster so badly, you don't really need me to do it." She answered serenely.

"This… this is why I HATE gods!" Alexander barely had the presence of mind to keep the words quite enough that only he and Florence heard.

If he'd bellowed them at the top of his lungs (like he wanted to) half of Zhukar would had heard, and probably a fourth of it would have formed up into an angry mob.

"You tried..." Florence insisted softly, as her stomach also had been turned by the sight of a starving woman not only rejecting but actively destroying the food that might have saved her life.

"A person who is filled with faith in the gods is empty of everything else! They have no brains with which to think, they have no will of their own with which to act! The gods see us as nothing but puppets to dance for their amusement, and yet some people willingly tie strings tight around their wrists!" Alexander moaned in anger and anguish.

"There's always James." Florence offered by way of a counter point.

"James is James. At least he made the 'wise' decision to fill his head with stories of knights and damsels before pouring in Bastet to take up whatever room was left over. These people though, the people of G'Henna are so hollowed out by their zeal for Zhakata that they can't hear the sound of their stomachs growling over their exuberant prayers.

I don't always agree with Devi, but food has to come first before any of the fripperies of faith. I would have though that would be obvious to everyone, but people are always finding new ways to enrage me with their idiocy." The silver haired man sighed.

"Do you blame all the people of G'Henna for that though?" Florence pressed.

"No, I'm going to start with this Yagno Petrovna who is High Priest and thus the seed from which this abdominal faith sprouted. I could be wrong of course… but for the moment I see little reason to doubt Marda's intuition. Yagno Petrovna is the darklord of G'Henna, and before this is through, I will break his soul for what he has done to these people." Alexander vowed.

"Good boy, that's what I like to see." Florence congratulated Alexander for focusing his anger in a constructive (well in an appropriately destructive) direction.

"The sad thing… the sad thing is that I don't think it will make a difference in the long run. Yes I can kill Yagno Petrovna. I can leave him calling out in pathetic whimper to a god who will do nothing to help him, and yet even if I do it before a huge crowd, it still won't do anything to make these people stop believing in Zhakata.

There's no point in arguing with zealots... They've hollowed themselves out to the point that the only reason they'd stop believing in Zhakata is to put their faith in some other god instead." Alexander scoffed bitterly.

"Lets get out of here and go pay a visit to the High Temple of Zhakata. I've heard that Yagno Petrovna is going to be giving some kind of sermon there today." Florence offered.

"Why would I possibly want to do hear anything he has to say?" Alexander spat.

"If you wish to defeat your enemies, you have to know them first. Not only that, but can you properly fantasize about killing him without being familiar with his face!" Florence offered.

"You make a persuasive argument." Alexander admitted.

XXX XXX XXX

Getting to the High Temple was not exactly easy; even leaving aside the crowd of genuine Zhakata worshipers who Alexander needed to muscles his way through, a group of soldiers gave everyone who wished to pass through the gates onto temple property a close inspection.

Both Alexander and Florence alike were patted down to make sure that they carried no hidden weapons, and Alexander was even forced to temporarily surrender the already peace-bonded Wolf Claw. The guard who took it form him was kind enough to wrap a piece of paper with the number "42" around the weapon's hilt and give another such piece to Alexander so that he could reclaim his sword when he returned to city proper.

Once they had made it through the inspection everyone was herded by still more guards toward the High Altar of Zhakata where Yagno Petrovna would be speaking. They were not allowed to enter the temple itself, which was designed as a flat topped pyramid of sorts.

Thanks to the enthusiastic crowd that had gathered for the event Alexander didn't even get within a hundred paces of Zhakata's High Priest, but it was still close enough for his keen eye to take the priest's measure.

Yagno Petrovna was an old man, he was pale, tall, gaunt, (but probably more by nature than starvation) and that was really all that could be said about him. His features were so nondescript that they seemed to be sketched onto his face.

His eyes were droopy and bloodshot as if he hadn't gotten a proper night sleep in quite a while. He was dressed in a hooded crimson priest robe (with the hood pulled back) along with a cap topped by a stiffly folded crest. Across his chest was draped a beaded cord, and now that he knew what to expect Alexander realized that the smallest "beads" were actually human teeth.

Yagno was not alone atop the temple though he was 'joined' by a young man with russet hair and brown eyes dressed in torn red robes who was chained heavily to the altar.

Yagno had already begun his preaching by the time Alexander got within ear shot, but the silver haired man didn't seem to have missed anything important, as Yagno was simply restating again and again how great and powerful Zhakata was. The words sounded harsh and grating upon his ears, but the people of Zhukar seemed to be quite entranced by Yagno's sermon.

"Was it not Zhakata the Devourer who saved me from the forest beasts when I was nothing more than a helpless stripling? He showed his power then, just as he will show his power today before you all!" Insisted Yagno before turning to the chained man.

"Petchko, son of Callian the Vistani, you have been accused by your fellow priests and found guilty of preaching the heresy of Zhakata the Provider!" Yagno bellowed out to all assembled before him.

Petchko strained feebly against the chains that bound him, and spoke in a voice that was high pitched and frightened.

"It is not true High Priest Petrovna! The Beast God has but one face, Zhakata the Devourer! Such I have always been taught, and such I have always believed!" He insisted pathetically.

"Do not waste your words upon my ears Petchko, I am only fulfilling the punishment that your fellow priests have judged to be just. You were not of Zhukar, and yet the city took you in. You were not born to the faith of Zhakata and yet the faith spread its arms wide and accepted you.

By engaging in heresy you have spat in the face of all those who showed you kindness. Yet so great is the might of Zhakata, that you will be shown one final mercy. I will not take your life from you this day.

From your respected lips have come words utterly devoid of truth that would lead the faithful astray. You have behaved in a manner more despicable than any animal, and so your body shall be remade to match your twisted spirit!" Yagno promised.

Then he raked his fingers across Petchko's forehead and chest. As he did so he tore something away from the young man.

It was hard to tell what exactly, but it was if he suddenly held a ghostly image of Petchko in his hands even as the real one was still chained to the Altar of Zhakata.

Yagno exhaled heavily upon the incorporeal copy, and as if it had been struck by a mighty gust it was instantly scattered to the four winds.

The moment it vanished Petchko began to transform. The transformation was not a pretty sight to behold, bones twisted and cracked, as skin became something else entirely.

It as impossible to say or guess what exactly Petchko was turning into as it seemed to incorporate aspects from many different animals. His eyes became ringed by green scales, his hands became twisted yet bird like talons though blunt and lacking points.

His face was vaguely human in its proportions but also quite lapine in ways, between the buck teeth and one ear that was much larger than the other. Who could say for certain what additional deformities might now also lurk beneath the red robe which hid much of Petchko's body from sight?

"Go now from my sight you animal! Go now from my sight and do not return until you have reclaimed the grace of Zhakata you have so foolishly cast aside!" Proclaimed Yagno as the chains that held Petchko abruptly broke leaving him "free" before the crowd.

Petchko slowly rose to his feet and instantly the crowd began to hurl mocking derision in his direction.

"ANIMAL!"

"MONGREL!"

"FILTH!"

"HERETIC!"

Alexander was utterly certain that in any other domain he had visited (with the possible exception of Vorostokov) such jeers would have soon enough been accompanied by hurling tomatoes and eggs (or their local equivalent) at the figure being mocked. Such was not the case in G'Henna, food was far too dear a commodity to waste it in such a way.

The chants and mockery continued, but the crowd did part itself before Petchko allowing him to run away from the temple, though he was buffeted by blows and kicks from anyone he came near.

The silver haired man watched the entire precession in cold stony silence. Then he said seven terse words.

"I need to buy a brown robe." Alexander Diamondclaw insisted as he turned his back on Yagno Petrovna.

End Chapter.

AN: Darklords are raised by the dark powers and frequently given control of the nations that they inhabit. They are given incredible power often of either political or arcane (or both) nature beyond that of ordinary people. Under their control people suffer. But no matter what, Darklords never get what they truly want. Darklords never win. Any "victory" they get brings them no joy. Darklords will inevitably suffer more horribly than any of their subjects.

Heroes in Ravenloft frequently suffer just as much as Darklords do, but they refuse to give into despair, hatred, or fear. They suffer, but they are made stronger by their suffering, they refuse to give into hate, anger, fear, or other negative emotions. Heroes do what they can to help eliminate the suffering of others...

Oh wait that particular thought has nothing at all to do with the story, no idea why I included it…

Anyway, some of you may notice that Alex never seemed quite so aggressively anti-god before this story.

There have been touches of it before this, his comments to Gwydion in the last book, back in the first book he mentioned how the Order of the Guardians were one of the few religious organizations he actually liked.

But you aren't incorrect that Alex is rather of two minds on the subject of gods and faith. With people like Wyan he isn't going to raise a fuss, and kick down doors, because Wyan you can completely strip out all the religious aspects of the people of Tepest, and the fact remains "evil creatures from the woods are tormenting us" and some form of a reaction is necessary.

If we ever saw Alex is Nidala however, oh but he would have some choice words for Elena and her followers before all was said and done.

Just to clear things up, in general Alex doesn't have a problem with Mirri who vaguely believes in Kali simply because you never know when believing in a god will wind up giving you magical superpowers. She doesn't do anything because of Kali that she wouldn't be doing otherwise. He's less fond of James sincere faith in Bastet… but he considers spending time with James yet another "hair shirt" for him to wear for his past mistakes/sins.

If you're wondering why he didn't say anything about this back in Book 4 when James believed he was possessed by a quasi-godlike being, well see his comment about "no point in arguing with zealots" and him not wanting to waste time.

Hopefully this all gels together fairly well since this is an aspect of Alex I've been intending from the start.


	4. Chapter 4

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Four: So hum hallelujah, just off the key of reason

"Your mercy, I beg, faithful of Zhakata..." A thin voice called out.

"Please, a mere crumb, a moldy crust! Anything, for the love of the Beast-God who sees over all!" Begged the pathetic figure in ragged red robes.

Petchko's words fell upon utterly deaf ears at first, but his luck was not to last. Soon people ceased to simply ignore him, and instead turned open derision upon the recently transformed priest.

"Leave us alone you filthy animal!" Insisted one man who spat profusely upon Petchko.

"Zhakata bless you all!" The former priest answered in stoic acceptance of such unkind treatment.

His well meaning words seemed to only further enrage those about him.

"Shut your mouth you vile cur, who gave you the right to speak like a man?" Growled another peasant who took Petchko by the throat and easily lifted his slight form off the ground.

At the same time, others began to lay into the red clad figure with kicks and punches.

"What… what are you doing to him and why?" A confused thin voice called out to the crowd.

The rapidly forming mob turned their attention to the new arrival.

It was hard to determine the figure's gender as nearly all of its body was hidden by a brown robe leaving only its hands visible at the moment.

They were awkward ungainly things, inhumanly thick and covered by silver fur.

"It is another one of those cursed beasts come to help its friend!" Chuckled one of the men who had been abusing Petchko only a moment ago.

"Let see what sort of monster this one looks like!" Another declared joyfully.

Two men seized the new arrival by its wrists, while a third threw back the brown cloak's hood.

That was when the mocking laughter stopped.

Petchko was an ill fitting mishmash of human and various different animals, this new arrival was different. He was simply part man, and part wolf.

While Petchko's face was fit to inspire derision and mockery, the new arrival had an elongated muzzle full of sharp gleaming teeth. His hands which only a moment ago seemed so ill suited suddenly grew larger and more sure of themselves.

Only his eyes seemed strangely at odds with one another, his right was an amber orange color while his left was green. The new arrival's body seemed to swell and grow with unnatural ease, as muscles that hadn't been there a moment ago expanded into being starting to tear his cloak apart. His arms flexed, and he easily broke free from the men who had sought to restrain him.

"What are you doing to him, and why?" Demanded the wolf monster, in a voice that was somehow all too human.

It grew bigger with every passing moment, reaching at least seven feet tall from pointed ear tip to its clawed feet.

There was a lot of gawking and babbling.

Then there was a lot of screaming and running.

Guards would be summoned soon, but not quite soon enough, for the moment was Petchko left to his own devices, the silver furred wolfman grabbed him in a tight grip. Its legs pushed off against the ground, and it was able to clear the alley's walls in one clean jump.

That wasn't the only jump it was planning on either, let the faithful of Zhakata try and keep track of it while it was bouncing pell-mell around the roofs of their city! By the time it had completed the third such leap Petchko had fainted dead away from shock.

XXX XXX XXX

"Are you all right?" Were the first words Petchko disgraced priest of Zhakata heard when he regained consciousness.

Looking around he found himself in an alley no less decrepit than the one that he'd originally been accosted in. His company was far more welcome though, instead of an angry mob there was only one man who was leaning over him in a nonthreatening manner.

"I… I have been better..." Petchko squeaked, still equal parts horrified and humiliated by the twisted sound of his own voice.

"Any idea how you got here? I was just heading back to my guesting house when I heard a tremendous 'WHUMP' noise and found you laid flat out on your back." The unknown man explained.

"I was accosted by my fellow worshipers of Zhakata because of how I look and the crimes I was falsely accused of." Petchko began mournfully.

No sooner had those words left his mouth then there was suddenly a great passion in his eyes and something at least vaguely resembling strength in his voice.

"Then, then I was suddenly rescued by a tremendous beast! It surely must have been an avatar of Zhakata, sent to show that while my fellow priests may have plotted and schemed to against me, even going to far as to foully delude the High Priest into twisting my shape, Zhakata himself has not abandoned me!" Petchko insisted proudly.

The man who had awakened Petchko had the strangest look upon his face. It was like gazing into a strange mix of pity, pain, and anger, oh yes anger was unquestionably the predominant emotion.

The man promptly stood up, walked over to an alley wall, balled his right hand into a fist and beat it against the wall several times over.

More proof of Zhukar's decrepit state was provided to Petchko when it turned out the man's blows left a noticeable dent in the stone. Then he turned back to Petchko, his emotions hidden behind a mask of icy politeness.

"I see. Anyway, forgive me for not introducing myself earlier, I'm Alexander Diamondclaw." The green eyed man explained.

"Petchko, son of Callian, follower of Zhakata the Devourer." Petchko did likewise.

"I am still a stranger to Zhukar, but I take it that those who Yagno has altered are not especially welcome in the city?" Alexander pressed.

Petchko bent his head in mournful agreement.

"Yes. It is a sentence akin to exile. None of this city's people will show me kindness now, for the High Priest only transforms those whose crime are seen as an affront to Zhakata himself. It is said that groups of those so punished wander the desert that lays beyond these walls." Petchko explained.

"You don't need to start wandering just yet. Come with me to the guesting house I'm staying at." Alexander insisted.

"But if the owner of such an establishment catches sight of me..." Petchko began to argue, worried that Alexander's kindness would only end up bringing him unnecessary suffering.

Alexander was not in the mood for Petchko's pleas to be left alone however; he simply took the transformed priest by his wrist, and hauled him to his feet before dragging him out of the alley.

XXX XXX XXX

Alexander Diamondclaw had neither great affection or interest in the vast majority of Callan Wrights trinkets. Even his specialized rifle only peeked Alexander's interest to the extent that it made the alchemist more useful in battle.

There were one or two though that were simply too useful for him to ignore. Not in everyday situations of course, but there were a few rare edge cases where a tool was simply necessary.

Now was one such time, and he had just the right tool.

As Alexander and Petchko stood in an alley beside the guesting house he was staying in, the silver haired man reached into a pocket of his black outfit and from it pulled a small wooden whistle.

"Put your hands over your hears, tight." Alexander warned the transformed priest.

Petchko looked at him questioningly, but when Alexander carefully slipped the whistle between his lips and held it there with his teeth so that his hands were free to cover his own ears, Petchko uncertainly did likewise.

Then Alexander blew into the whistle.

Petchko's heard a piercing high pitched sound that made his head ring even with his ears covered. Except that while Petchko heard it, it seemed that no one else did. No one came running out of any of the nearby buildings to protest Alexander making such a horrible racket.

Nothing at all worth talking about took place. Alexander seemed utterly content to simply stand there waiting, waiting for some unknown event to take place.

"Is that some form of magic whistle?" Petchko eventually brought himself to ask.

If it was, then using it inside Zhukar was most assuredly illegal, for it would be the same as casting arcane magic.

"There's nothing magical about the whistle, it is just well crafted. You can even use whatever divine powers you might still retain to assure yourself of that. Come along, Petchko it is time I show you to my room." Alexander insisted, refusing to elaborate on why he'd wanted to blow the whistle or why he'd waited after blowing it.

After enough time had passed to suit Alexander, he and Petchko finally entered the guesting house, and sure enough Leon paid them not the slightest bit of attention.

He was much too busy focusing on a pair of crimson eyes belonging to Mirri Catwarrior.

She was currently leaning across the desk he normally positioned himself behind, with a wide smile on his face.

"I'm the most beautiful woman in the world..." She cooed in a slow calm voice.

"You're the most beautiful woman in the world." Leon agreed all too eagerly.

"One of my friends ran into someone down on their luck and wants him to spend the night with us. So long as we pay you a little extra that won't be a problem, will it?" Mirri pressed with a playful tilt of her head.

"Not a problem in the least, for you..." Leon agreed dreamily.

"That looks a great deal like..." Petchko began, but Alexander slid a black gloved hand over his mouth to silence him.

Only after they'd completed the journey up the stairs and into the room where they would be out of Leon's sight and earshot (using his other hand to shut the door tightly) did he relax his grip.

"That wasn't magic either. My female companion has simply spent a great deal of time mastering the art of hypnotic mesmerism as practiced in the land of Nova Vaasa. It is tremendously useful for helping calm the mentally unbalanced, but can be used to not too dissimilar effect on those of a more sound mind as well." Alexander explained.

Petchko did not press the issue, Nova Vassa had been a long way from G'henna even when the later was still part of the Core.

"By the way, are you hungry?" Alexander abruptly added, quickly changing the conversation with what he decided would be his default ice breaker in Zhukar.

It was really amazing that despite how animalistic Petchko's face had become, it could still do such a wonderful job conveying the emotion of utter desperate starvation.

"Yes..." He whimpered, clutching his hands to his stomach.

Alexander reached under his pillow and produced a rather squished but entirely edible loaf of bread.

"Help yourself, if it isn't one of your three fast days." He gladly remarked.

"Priests don't actually have to fast, our connection with Zhakata is strong enough that such rudimentary means of interacting with the Beast God are not required." Petchko explained taking before taking as large a bite as his misshapen mouth could manage.

"Priests don't have to fast. Priests don't have to fast? Oh but of course, priests don't have to fast! What else should one expect from men of god?" Alexander muttered dourly as he turned away from his guest so that Petchko couldn't see the expression on his face.

After Petchko managed to consume his first mouthful, he suddenly stopped eating and held the loaf of bread out at arms length as if it was poisonous.

"You… you did not hide this from Zhakata's taking, nor buy it?" He demanded to know in surprisingly affronted terms.

Alexander crossed his arms and fixed Petchko with a disapproving glare.

"No on both counts. I brought this bread into the city with me after buying it from some unremarkable baker back in the Core. I haven't been contributing to Zhakata's Taking since I have no interest in receiving his Dole, and because I am a foreigner who does not believe in Zhakata, that is permissible. Likewise, before you even ask, I am not selling this loaf of bread to you, and you are not buying it, I am simply giving it to you." The silver haired man insisted.

"You may not believe in Zhakata, but you are worthy of his blessings..." Petchko murmured, before going back to consuming the loaf of bread with great gusto.

"Who or what is Zhakata the Provider?" Alexander added after as his guest was about half finished with the bread.

Petchko nearly choked, and Alexander was worried enough to give him a few slaps on the back just to be on the safe side.

When the transformed priest recovered himself enough to speak he began babbled at once.

"Zhakata the Provider? I must tell you truly, from my very first days of training to be an acolyte of the Beast God, I have been told that Zhakata has only one aspect, that of the Devourer. That is the bitter irony of the unjust sentence Yagno Petrovna was mislead into placing upon me, I know nothing at all about the heresy of which I was accused." Petchko insisted.

Given that he was safe (as much as anywhere in Zhukar would be "safe' for him) from harm and how far the transformed priest had already fallen that day, Alexander didn't think Petchko was playing dumb.

So he decided another strategy might be necessary to get the information he wanted. He gently leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Petchko's shoulders.

"Look, as I've said before, I am a newcomer to Zhukar.

Some things however are universal to both the Core and the lands beyond. One of them is that when evil men get hold of power, they inevitably use it to persecute others for the vices and failings they themselves posses.

If there is some great evil afoot in Zhukar, some nefarious actor so malevolent that even Yagno Petrovna eye's are clouded by them, then it doubtlessly has something to do with Zhakata the Provider. Even if the name itself means nothing to you, do you have any idea where we might be able to find some information?" Alexander suggested gently.

"The Avenue of the False Gods." Petchko answered at once.

"Before Yagno insisted that no gods were to be worshiped in Zhukar other than Zhakata, it was the city's religious center. There is nothing there now but desecrated shrines of unworshiped deities, but if information about Zhakata the Provider could be found anywhere, it would be there." He insisted.

"Then I think I know exactly what part of Zhukar we need to visit next." Alexander declared as he gave Petchko a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.

XXX XXX XXX

The Avenue of the False Gods was the most dilapidated part of Zhukar.

That was not an easy "prize" for it to win, but its right to the title could not be denied. Most of the city looked run down and falling apart from the stress of being lived in by so many people who cared so little about it.

The Avenue of the False Gods looked as if no one in the city had even bothered to visit it in decades. Not even if a wall been erected around it to keep honest citizens out, could the place have looked more deserted.

The pressure of wind, rain, and time alone were responsible for the avenue's run down appearance. Looking around at its empty streets made Alexander glad that he'd brought all five of his companions (and of course Petchko) along with him, who knew what kind of creatures (or people) might be hiding within these desolate and desecrated shrines.

Alexander opened the first door he could find within the Avenue of the False Gods, and promptly had it slip free of its hinges in his hands. Inside the crumbling building was a run down room centered around a large and badly weathered statue of a bipedal beast. To Alexander's eye this large statue looked little different (other than its state of disrepair) than the icons sold openly in Zhukar's market.

"Yagno doesn't leave much wiggle room for how to worship Zhakata does he?" Cal needled Petchko.

The transformed priest however refused to have his faith in either Zhakata or his High Priest shaken.

"He is strict because he must be, Zhakata places great burdens upon our shoulders, and in so doing makes us stronger as we grow accustomed to the weight." He insisted even as he struggled to preform some manner of sacred gesture with his misshapen hands.

"Why did you decide to become a priest of Zhakata in the first place? You weren't even born in G'Henna..." Florence inquired in vastly a less condescending manner.

"The first time I heard Yagno Petrovna speak: the fire in his eyes, the conviction in his voice, the strength of his faith, I knew that I wanted to be like him. I wished to be something more than just one more wanderer who was destined to be forgotten scant moments after his departure." Petchko answered, standing up as straight as his twisted body would allow.

Alexander turned his head away from Petchko then rolled his eyes. He had no desire to waste his time arguing with a zealot, even one who was useful to him at the moment.

Instead he drew closer to the statue, and looked at the engraving at its base. It read "Zhakata The..." but the rest of it had been defaced to the point of illegibility.

With nothing further to be gained from this particular building the group began to explore others.

Inside the seemingly countless abandoned shrines the group found more images of Zhakata that were no longer worthy of worship, and depictions of other gods and goddesses as well.

James Firecat insisted on spending a good solid five minutes with a wet cloth in the futile task of trying to reshine a statue of a woman with the head of a cat.

Likewise Mirri could not help but be momentarily captivated by a statue of a woman whose statue had seemed to have been carved out of some sort of blue stone.

She even went so far as to roll up her right sleeve, revealing that she beneath her white jacket she wore a wristband festooned with several small ornate skulls. She rubbed it against the statue and offered it a quick bow of supplication before being ready to move on.

"Gods..." Sighed Alexander, careful to make sure that he was doing so out of earshot of Petchko at the time.

"If they aren't complete nonsense it is only because of magic and that they're so immaterial a concept no one can properly prove they don't exist." Callan Wright agreed. The alchemist like most of his people was distinctly skeptical on the concept of divine beings, doubly so on ones who directly interfered in the lives of mortals.

"Gods exist, it is just that they have never done anything to make them worthy of worship." Alexander countered.

Cal simply held up his hands appeasingly and shrugged his shoulders, the time he had spent in Alexander's company had lead him to see far too many far too strange things for him to argue that particular point.

The group explored one fallen shrine after another, none of them providing any explanation for who or what "Zhakata the Provider" might be, and none of them managing to shake Alexander's generally dismissive attitude towards the whole affair.

None of them…. Until one suddenly did.

The building was in utter disrepair just like all of the others, and from the outside there was nothing to set it apart from any of the others. Yet the dilapidated building's contents gave Alexander a shock greater than discovering the source of Zhukar's "ivory" surplus.

"This… this isn't real. This wasn't crafted by any human hand, it must have been made by the Mists. I can't, I won't believe that the people of Zhukar ever actually worshiped here..." Alexander insisted in a voice that was unsteady and trembling as he laid eyes upon the statue.

It was a wolf who might have been painted or even coated with silver once, but the passage of time (and possibly some of Zhakata's more zealous adherents) had stripped it to the bare iron beneath save for a few small patches.

Alexander go down on his hands and knees before the wolf statue and stared into its lifeless eyes.

"This, this shouldn't be here. It is a trick, not an illusion, but a fakery all the same. No one ever really cared about this wolf." He insisted, sounding as if he was more interested in convincing himself than any of the others.

Then he slowly reached under his black outfit and pulled out a simple wooden figurine that he wore around his neck on a string.

It was as near as could be imagined a perfect copy of the statue before him, except for three things. It

was carved of wood, smaller in size, and Alexander's figurine had the inscription "Mac Tíre Cáiliúil" engraved upon it.

"Alex… do you… should we leave?" James awkwardly fumbled his way through the sentence, as he struggled to find the right words.

"No, I'm, I'm fine." Alexander Diamondclaw insisted as he slowly got to his feet.

He began to pace around the small shrine, there were other depictions of the wolf there on the walls, primarily either hunting, feasting on slain animals, or in battle with a one eyed soldier, but his attention was drawn by one thing in particular...

It was an emblem that someone had painted on the wall of the shrine, and looked slightly fresher than the rest of the building. It was a simple circle containing an eclipsed sun.

"This, this doesn't belong here. This doesn't belong to the wolf." The silver haired man insisted.

Then he suddenly turned to face Petchko while tapping a black gloved hand against the strange symbol.

"Do you have any idea what this is supposed to be?" He inquired of the priest.

Petchko shook his head mournfully.

"All right, fine. If nothing else, we've at least got one more piece of this particular puzzle. I want you five to keep your eyes open, and if you see any more examples of this symbol anywhere in Zhukar, let me know." Alexander insisted.

Then he turned his back on the wolf statue and walked out of the shrine without another word.

End Chapter.

AN: Blood Bowl 2 delays (Nurgle is out, come to hear your opponent rage about Tentacles and Foul Apperance, stay to hear your opponents rage about Clawpomb!) and also Plants Versus Zombies Heroes strike again.

Anyway, I think of all the PCs that the group has found themselves needing to worry about, Petchko may be the most… Petchkoist for lack of a better term.

Also, Alex's comment about the statue being made by the Mists isn't as "crazy" as it sounds, since in some domains (Richemulot, Falkovnia, Darkon, Sithicus are some main examples) it is questionably if they ever existed as real places before the Dark Powers brought them to Ravenloft, and so the Dark Powers just created a land/people out of whole cloth and gave them the necessary memories of having been alive for however long is needed. I'm not sure if that's better or worse than the alternative of ripping lands out of wherever they used to be and forcing their people to be subject to a Darklord who they had nothing at all to do with...

Other than that, I'm just gonna let this chapter sorta speak for itself at the moment.


	5. Chapter 5

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Five: Don't you know? You never split the party!

The group departed the Avenue of the False Gods with only a little more knowledge than they had entered it.

Alexander Diamondclaw spent an uneasy night on the floor of his guesting house room (so that Petchko could have his bed) still slightly unsettled by memories of the wolf statue.

His sleep would have been unsteady enough for that reason alone, but then, sure enough, came the bells.

Even with his ears stuffed full of cotton the bells tolling out Zhakata's Taking roused him from sleep far sooner than he would have liked.

He tossed and turned upon the hard wooden floor, but it was impossible for him to regain any semblance of true rest while the bells rang.

By the time they finally finished ringing, Alexander had focused himself on one task, and one task alone; figuring out how one might best go about bludgeoning Yagno Petrovna to death with one of his own church bells. He warmed to the task with such fervor that it would be another hour after some measure of silence returned that he was finally ready to leave his room.

XXX XXX XXX

James Firecat though put off by the sound of the bells ringing as well had born the aural assault with his usual blend of stoic optimism and decided to head back out into the streets of Zhukar once again, even if Alexander refused to.

The market was closed, but that didn't mean there weren't other interesting sights to see. At least if you decided to equate "interesting" with "stomach churning".

He'd barely managed spend half an hour outside the guesting house when the young man found himself accosted by one of the locals.

A black haired man whose beard was waxed into a single thin braid grabbed James' right arm, and spoke in a rough choking voice.

"Please blessed one… please some help!" He begged, his blue eyes wide and pleading.

The man looked to be about twice James' age, and needed to half crouch so that he and James could easily see eye to eye.

"What… what sort of help do you need?" James asked, eager as ever to brighten somebody's day.

"My family needs water, desperately..." The man croaked out through lips that were dry and cracked.

"I've only got this on me, but if you tell me where your house is, I'll come by with some more." He offered, before handing the man his canteen.

The man began to chug it down eagerly. Only after he'd finished draining it completely could he bring himself to answer.

"House thirty six on the street of Zhakata's Benevolence in the City of Bridges, my name is Ivan." The thirsty man explained, before handing back the empty canteen with a shocked smile on his face.

Then he departed as quickly as he could, leaving a mildly befuddled James Firecat in his wake.

"Well, lets go back to the inn. Devi's bag of holding should still have plenty of canteens full of Florence's magicked up water." He decided, unable to figure out any other possible course of action.

"Lets try not to do too many of these charity runs though, if we provide water for one dehydrated wretch and his family then pretty soon all the others are gonna want it also." Mirri Catwarrior warned him.

That said, she wasn't about to try and change James' mind on the subjecting of helping Ivan and his family. She knew what a waste of time it would be to try and get between James Firecat and someone who had directly asked him for help.

XXX XXX XXX

The section of Zhukar called the City of Bridges was an architectural marvel of sorts. It was truly impressive how much work must have obviously gone into something that was now so run down and decrepit.

It had no streets at all, and instead the buildings were connected by bridges at different levels. Bridges lead this way, bridges lead that way, it made James worry that he could spend an entire day searching this place without finding the "street" of Zhakata's Benevolence.

The City of Bridges were also home to some very foolish people didn't know what happened to those who got between James Firecat and someone who had directly asked him for help.

To pick one example not at random there was the gang of ten rough looking characters who currently barred the pairs way forward.

"Toll is ten gold if you want to cross the bridge..." A black haired man with a long scar running down his face declared with a predatory glint in his blue eyes.

James looked at the man, and scratched his head, as he did a few quick mental calculations.

While the young man was busy puzzling out this situation, Mirri had already come to the obvious conclusion.

Every single soldier and guard that the pair had come across in Zhukar had marked their weapons with red string, scarf, paint, or in some other manner.

These men were brandishing swords, which were completely devoid of red.

"I don't think you have a right to be demanding tolls..." Mirri insisted, planting her hands on her hips.

"I don't think you're in much of a position to be resisting." The bandit's leader growled back.

"Foreigners in Zhukar have all their weapons peace bonded." One of his followers chuckled.

"You're adorable." Mirri chuckled back as she slowly raised her white gloved hands.

"But since you've made this otherwise depressingly boring day somewhat interesting, here's a little something for your troubles." The black haired woman offered, as she reached into a pocket.

From it she produced she produced a single copper coin.

In one single smooth motion she tossed it straight at the head of the bandit leader. It bounced off his forehead and his blues eyes instantly filled with rage.

"You bitch!" He screamed at the top of his lungs as he charged forward sword swinging.

James Firecat darted forward to meat him, eager to put himself between anyone who wanted to hurt Mirri.

The bandit slashed at James with his sword and the young man reached desperately into his jacket for something to defend himself with.

Liquid gushed down dampening the bridge below James' feet.

"You bastard!" James cried out in a rage.

The sword pulled back for another blow, but the bandit underestimated his opponent's speed.

James was light enough on his feet to launch himself straight at the bandit and tackle him against the bridge's railing. Then the young man in red braced leaped away, slamming his feet hard into the bandit's chest as he did so.

The robber lost his footing and was propelled over the railing as James somersaulted through the air to land gracefully back on the bridge.

"Thirsty people needed that water!" James snarled, dropping the ruptured canteen he'd used to turn the bandit's blade.

Not that the sword's owner was in much position to make any comment beyond the inevitable "AHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhh SPLASH" of any man in position.

"Normally at a time like this I'd have some choice words for the Dark Mother, but I hear that sort of thing is against the law in Zhukar." Mirri chuckled to herself.

"He got lucky..." Insisted the bandit who had made the point about James and Mirri's weapons being peace-bonded.

"Then come test your own luck." James offered, gesturing with his once again free hands.

It was at that point that from somewhere in the shadows behind the two a dagger came whizzing out.

It was aimed straight for James' head, but before it could complete its journey, a white gloved hand snatched it out of the air.

Mirri Catwarrior's arm was pulled forward slightly by the momentum of the blade, but only slightly.

"Lost something? Kitten? Catch." She snickered before flipping the dagger to James.

James Firecat gently ran his gloved right hand along the flat of the blade as he got a feel for its heft and weight.

"Not the most well made dagger I've ever handled, but it will do. I like to practice by throwing these things at rats. If you can hit a rat, you can hit just about anything else." He insisted staring down nine bandits before him.

They charged a moment later, and a moment later than that, the charge's leader collapsed with a dagger buried up to its hilt in his forehead.

The momentum of his final movements carried him a few more steps, but then his body began to go slack, transforming him into hundred plus pound obstacle for the other bandits to worry about.

Mirri Catwarrior spun around and headless of the other eight bandits darted towards the section of shadows from which the dagger had been thrown.

That left eight bandits left for James Firecat to face, and he was unarmed.

"I really didn't want to do this..." The young man muttered to himself as he removed another canteen from his jacket and took a long swig from it. Then he rushed forward to meet the advancing bandits.

The robbers wanted to skewer him on the point of their swords, but they hadn't managed to completely get their fallen companion out of the way yet. That gave James the opportunity he needed to dart in and deliver a powerful kick to one of the bandits.

Such a powerful kick in fact that the bandit in question was lifted off the ground, propelled straight into another of his companion, and both robbers went sailing off of the bridge.

That left six of them for the young man in red to deal with. Having finally managed to toss their fallen companion off of the bridge as well, one of the men got out ahead of his companions, proving to be a little lighter on his feet.

In fact he was so light on his feet that James managed to easily turn his momentum against him, sliding to the side of his stab, grabbing him by the right shoulder with both hands and pitching him up and over the bridge's railing.

Which meant that now there were five cautious bandits left to worry about.

They advanced more or less shoulder to shoulder, swords held out in front of them like a miniature pike phalanx. James sighed, hefted the canteen that he'd taken a drink from and let it fly.

The impact of a fast moving metal object (made a little heavier still by whatever water remained in it) against a helmetless head was more than enough to knock a bandit senseless.

With a mocking look in his eyes, James reached into his jacket for another canteen, silently daring his foes to act more aggressively.

He got his wish as all four of the remaining bandits charged him as one.

James Firecat threw himself to the ground, half sliding half rolling towards his attackers, managing to come in too low for their blades to reach him. At the same time, he threw his arms and legs akimbo, managing to hook one limb around the leg of each bandit, causing all four of them to fall to the ground in a heap.

One unlucky bandit promptly ended up getting skewer on his companion's blades as four sharp swords waved around in uncoordinated panic. James' arms wrapped their way around another's head, lifted it up slightly, then slammed it against the bridge hard enough to knock him unconscious.

Of the two remaining one of them managed to get a lucky grip on the cuff of James' collar.

"I've got the slipper bastard Raphael, kill him!" He insisted.

The other unharmed bandit rolled over to face James, ready to slam his sword home into the young man's guts. At which point James spat the water he'd be swilling around his mouth the entire fight directly into his foe's eyes.

The sudden shock delayed his attack for just a moment, but just a moment was all James needed.

The jacket that the other bandit was holding onto suddenly seemed to become a strange mix of slippery and ethereal, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it, it was almost as if there was no longer a jacket to be held onto.

With no restraints to hold him still James rolled away and delivered a swift kick to the half blind robber's head.

Then, having finally evened the odds, he fell upon the remaining bandit. A red shoe stomped upon his sword hand till his grip went slack, and then James hefted the bandit to his feet.

Despite the young man's wiry body he had no trouble lifting the robber up off the ground with only a single hand wrapped about the taller man's throat.

"You made me waste a lot of perfectly good water that other people needed. Go get some more for me." James Firecat insisted.

Then he tossed the bandit off the bridge. As he sighed heavily and brushed himself down, James turned his attention back toward the patch of shadow from which the knife had been thrown.

"You okay Mirri?" He inquired.

A moment later there was a distinct "THWUMP" sound as an unmoving body hit the ground. Then Mirri walked out of the shadows, her normally white outfit and pale skinned stained with streaks of a bright crimson liquid.

None of it seemed to be her own however, in fact she was evidently quite pleased to be covered with blood.

"I'm quite a bit better than okay." She replied with a wide smile, before wiping away a few bits of blood from her face, and then licking it off the hand she'd used.

"Well then, lets keep going." James insisted, he wasn't about to let a little thing like a bandit attack keep him from helping someone in need.

XXX XXX XXX

With the bandits dealt with James Firecat returned to focusing on an actually daunting obstacle, finding his way to the house he was looking for.

The young man searched high and low (rather literally, giving the way that some bridges arched up and other down) and asked anyone who didn't look actively malevolent for directions. Eventually (around the same time Mirri was starting to feel her never especially generous supply of patience had been completely expended) he finally managed to locate the house in question.

He jiggled the knob once to make sure it was locked and then pounded away furiously on the door. Soon it was opened who by the same desperate man who had approached him in the street.

"Sorry it took so long, and we don't have quite as much as I planned to bring, but I brought you more water!" He happily greeted the home's owner.

Instantly the man threw himself to ground in abject supplication.

"Thank you… thank you! You do me greater favor than I could possibly deserve! I never imagined that a priest of Zhakata would show concern for my humble family!" He gushed.

"A priest of Zhakata?" Mirri scowled, wondering what the man was possibly talking about.

"Still your tongue! Does he not wear the red of Zhakata?" The desperate man snarled at her.

"The red of…. Ohh…. Oh…. Oooohhhhh ummm uhhh…. Ah….." James half babbled as his brain struggled to work through exactly what he had just heard.

"He's not a priest. He just likes to wear red." Mirri promptly pointed out with a swiftly growing smirk.

"What she said." James abruptly agreed.

"We're still here to give you water though..." He also insisted after a moment's hesitation, producing a pair of canteens.

The bearded man took the metal containers in a dumbfounded stupor looking nearly as befuddled as James.

"We… we don't have much. For this water that will help prolong the time we are given to serve Zhakata in this world, I will render unto you my eldest daughter Miranda. Although she is still a stranger to the ways of men, I am certain that she will serve you with devotion second only to that she show Zhakata!" The man promised.

Any amusement Mirri was gaining from the situation abruptly vanished.

James began to rapidly backpedal away from the man and his dwelling even though he still had more canteens to offer.

"That's very kind of you and all to say but I really don't think I need your daughter's help in any way shape or form, though I'm sure she's a very lovely girl who is…. What is that?" He suddenly gasped, shock interrupting his awkward flow of words.

Neither he nor Mirri had noticed it the first time around, they'd been too busy looking for some sign of house thirty six on the street of Zhakata's Benevolence.

Now that he no longer had that particular task to occupy his mind (even if there were plenty other things he was worried about) James noticed it at once.

On the side of one of the nearby houses, someone had painted a simple circle containing an eclipsed sun.

Someone else had started to try and cover up the symbol with a thin layer of paint, but hadn't possessed enough to do the job properly.

When the man leaned out of his house and saw the symbol that James was pointing at, his own blue eyes went wide.

Then he grabbed the young man by the scruff of his red jacket and pulled him into his house.

"One way or another the next sixty seconds are going to be very interesting." Mirri half purred as she followed into the house taking care to close the door behind her.

End Chapter.

AN: This late chapter brought to you by Plants Versus Zombies: Heroes. I'll reach rainbow rank 50 eventually with my Super Brainz deck!

Hopefully somewhere along the way I'll also find the time to keep writing and posting these chapters, rather than just playing the game from start to stop during my metro ride to and from work.

As for this chapter, well what can I say, I appreciate how much work when into the writing of Zhukar in the Circle of Darkness book, it came with a bunch of neat ideas that have helped me set up these chapters.


	6. Chapter 6

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Six: There's nothing sicker in society than a lack of liquor and sobriety!

"When the going gets tough, the tough..." Cal Wright said confidently.

"Get going." Devi Skye answered at once.

"Right. When the going gets tough, the smart?" He pressed with an even wider smile.

"Go to the library." The elf replied in an utterly deadpan manner.

"Right again!" The alchemist concluded as he flipped over the book before him.

Granted in Zhukar instead of having something as secular as a library it was a gigantic repository to the history of Zhakata, at least those parts of his past that was available to the public.

He'd also needed to make a several hundred gold donation to the cause of Zhakata to get in. That had rankled Cal twice over, once for having to give up the money, and then there was the idea that idiots would have said money instead of him. Still, sometimes knowledge was worth even more than money.

Cal began to lazily flip through the book keeping his eyes open for any sign of a simple circle containing an eclipsed sun.

"How long do you expect this to take?" Devi pondered, rubbing her flail in boredom.

Callan Wright looked around and gazed at the rows upon rows upon rows upon rows of books and scrolls containing the history of Zhakata and his city.

"It might be a while." He admitted.

"Why, do you have anything better to do?" He muttered as he buried his head in the book.

"If we were anywhere else I might go and get a bite to eat. Not much chance of here..." The blue haired elfess sighed.

"Pull up a chair, I'm sure that once you got really invested in it, there's nothing more interesting than looking at details concerning the minute theocratic arguments, like how many angels can dance on the head of a pin!" The alchemist offered.

"Do you really believe that?" Devi answered.

"Of course not. I want to spend my time researching religion the same way that… well boss would want to!" Cal immediately admitted.

XXX XXX XXX

"We have what you want. Come to the brewery at the corner of Zhakata's Power and Zhakata's Rage." Was all the note that had been slipped under Alexander Diamondclaw's door said.

Leon didn't have anything to tell him about who had left it behind. That was the inevitable downside of Mirri repeatedly using her charm gaze on him to make sure he didn't notice Alexander's new roommate; if you used magic to keep someone from noticing who was walking around in front of him…. He just might not fail to notice who was walking around in front of him.

So, while he'd been busy hating the sound of ringing bells, someone had entered into the guesting house, slipped the note under his door, and he had only now gotten around to noticing it.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked to Florence.

"Probably a trap?" She green clad woman responded.

"Yes, that. The fact that it is a trap is nearly as important as the fact that this is my first real shot at getting some actual G'Hennan liquor! If it wasn't a trap, then they wouldn't have bothered to contact me through a clandestine note. Instead they could have just knocking on the door, holding out the bottle, and naming their price. That means things probably won't end well for me if I follow up on it." He admitted openly.

"Which doesn't mean you aren't going to follow up on it." Florence wisely predicted.

"Over my years I've learned a thing or two about walking into traps. If you're going to do it, then you need to have someone you trust, someone you can count on never to betray you. So long as you've got that… well the market isn't open today and nobody ever sings heroic tales of those who sat around in their rooms waiting for fame and glory to be suddenly showered upon them." Alexander insisted.

"No, you win fame and glory by charging headfirst into danger!" Florence shot back.

"Was that 'you' meant in the general sense or referring to me in particular?" Alexander couldn't help but inquire.

"You in particular, you beast." She answered before picking up the pillow and tossing it at him.

"None beastlier." Alexander smiled.

Then he casually reached out and place a hand on the shoulder of a very confused Petchko.

"You should come with us. It'll be safer than staying here alone, besides, given how much of the stuff is evidently turned over to Yagno Petrovna, priests of Zhakata obviously are allowed to drink liquor." The silver haired man pointed out.

XXX XXX XXX

As the brewery at the corner of Zhakata's Power and Zhakata's Rage wasn't located in the City of Bridges section of Zhukar, the three (with Petchko now wearing a less obvious brown cloak whose hood covered most of his face) managed to make the journey without being waylaid or getting lost.

As they approached the towering structure of the brewery Alexander's nostrils flared and his brow furrowed.

"Yep, this isn't gonna end well." He admitted with a heavy sigh.

"Why are you even more certain now?" Petchko couldn't help but ask.

Alexander leaned himself against the door, shaking his head sorrowfully.

"I've got a very good sense of smell. I'm decent at picking up blood, but I'm really good at picking up beer. Fermenting hops has a particular scent to it, and it is a scent that lingers. If this place was in operation as a proper brewery, I'd be able to have picked it up by now. Since I haven't, that means whatever is behind this door, it isn't going to end with me contentedly sipping a bottle of G'Henna's finest." He explained.

"Then why don't we not open the door, and go back to the guesting house?" Petchko suggested, stating the most obvious course of action.

"Because if I let myself get tricked into criss crossing all over the city chasing phantom bottles of booze without getting some manner of revenge, then everyone will start doing it to me. No, instead I'm going to put my foot in this trap, find out who comes to collect, and then I'm going to beat their head against the nearest wall." The silver haired man explained as he swung the door open.

"Does he do this all the time?" Petchko didn't quite whisper to Florence.

"Only if he can't think of something better. That, or if he just wants to see someone suffer. I'm guessing its the latter at the moment. Besides, doesn't Zhakata preach about placing burdens on people's shoulders so they grow stronger?" Florence 'comforted' the transformed priest..

Inside there was a great deal of nothing, musty deserted nothing.

Alexander's nostrils flared again as he took in the sight of the deserted brewery.

"That, that's not hops but it is..." The silver haired man's words trailed off as he began to head deeper into the building.

The brewery was one of the larger buildings in Zhukar, not anywhere near as big as Zhakata's prime temple, but still larger than the dwellings of most prosperous merchants. That meant that there was not only room for a great deal of nothing, but multiple floors "full" of "theoretical nothing" to explore.

Alexander followed his nose down a flight of stars, and at the bottom of them found a door that looked surprisingly firm for a deserted brewery.

The real give away however was the fact that the door had a one of those sliding slits in it at a height of just over five feet.

Sliding slits at a lower height showed up in prison doors to allow food to be pushed in, but at that height… it meant whoever was on the other side waned to be able to get a good long look at anyone who wanted to enter, while remaining relatively obscured themselves. Alexander wrapped a black gloved hand against the door and tapped his foot on the ground. A moment later the slit slid open and a pair of probing blue eyes glowered out at him.

"Who sent you?" A gruff voice demanded.

"Whoever it was who slid this in under my door." Alexander answered holding up the mysterious note that had instructed him to come here.

The slit slid closed. There was the sound of at least three locks being fiddled with, and the door slowly creaked open. Alexander was now able to get a better look at the man on the other side of the door… except that he had wrapped straps of white cloth across most of his face.

"Look around, but try not to take too much time doing it, merchandise is always moving. If you have anything of your own to sell let me know now." The man demanded in a slightly muffled tone that managed to be more brisk than aggressive.

"No, we're just here to see the merchandise Alexander informed the man.

He then promptly twisted his head slightly and shot Florence a pointed look letting her know that if Petchko decided to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, he'd be perfectly fine with her beating him unconscious.

XXX XXX XXX

"That symbol means hope, hope that a better day will come to Zhukar." Ivan explained to James Firecat in between swallows of the water he had so desperately needed.

XXX XXX XXX

"That symbol?" The librarian, or Zhakata worshiping equivalent, who probably had a much more impressive sounding title, sniffed in disapproval as Cal showed him a drawing that he'd made.

After managing to work his way through a great many books he still hadn't found any trace of the symbol, so he decided that it might be time to consult people rather than books.

"Yes… I have seen it around tovn in a fev places, and I vant to make sure if it is some important marker of Zhakata I don't show it undo disrepect…." Cal explained.

He made sure to speak Balook with the thickest most obnoxious Lamordian accent he was capable of. When you were starting to explore what you expected to be a sensitive subjects, establishing that you were a silly foreigner was typically a good idea.

"You should show it the utmost disrespect every chance you get! It should be defaced and obliterated! That symbol represents all those who wish to tear down this wondrous city that Zhakata has provided us with!" The not quite a librarian fumed.

XXX XXX XXX

"These people look nice-ish." Florence Bastien reflected as she looked around.

Underneath the brewery was a market. A much more informal and boisterous market than the one that was held in the bright light of day. The biggest difference of course was what was for sale; food.

It wasn't the only thing for sale, but for the first time since the group had entered Zhukar, it was possible to see items of food on display.

Very carefully guarded display of course, there were a lot of weapons being worn quite openly down here. Not that food was the only thing for sale of course, there was lots of other things, from religious nicknacks of a most likely more heretical variety to magical scrolls and maps to various hideaways, secret passages and buried treasures.

There was nothing in particular that drew Alexander's interest, but he kept looking all the same. Alas, there was no sign of a simple circle containing an eclipsed sun, which was what he was most looking for.

Granted, the place wasn't entirely without any source of pleasure for the silver haired man.

His single green eye darted back and for to Petchko every so often which was always good for a carefully hidden chuckle. The transformed priest clearly knew that he was now in unhallowed ground, surrounded by various offenses to Zhakata.

His pride having been "mildly buffetted" to say the least by his recent transformation however, he managed to keep his tongue still. He even managed to refrain from giving the "side eye of righteousness" much beloved of "holy-er than thou" men of all faiths when confronted with those who clearly (at least in the opinion of the one doing the side eyeing) would have unpleasent things happen to them in the afterlife.

No, Petchko said little, and tried to keep himself hidden inside his cloak. Luckily, people were more interested in what was for sale than what their fellow shoppers looked like and no one asked him to remove it. Alexander had been in more degenerate markets than this one, and didn't think anything he'd seen here would be worth pondering over after he left.

Just as he was about to suggest that to Florence that he'd seen enough, a loud pireceing bell began to sound. This one was different from the those which had sounded the Taking of Zhakata (after all, even those bells would be unlikely to reach down here) it was closer by and infurriatingly even more high pitched.

"RAID!" Screamed someone.

It took about five seconds for everything to descend into complete and utter chaos. Some people ran for the entrance they'd used to get in, others to try and find other places to hide, one or two souls who clearly thought they had little enough left to loose now made grabs for merchandise they hadn't been willing to actually purchase, ensuring that fights broke out and the situation grew only more confusing.

In reponse to the vast number of people doing their best to impersonate a decapitated chicken, Alexander gently reached out an arm and grabbed one random person running by.

"Who is raiding us?" He demanded.

"The inqusition!" The black market shopper all but screached at him, trying to wiggle free from Alexander's grip.

The silver haired man gently let him go, it was clear the man wouldn't have anything else useful to say. Besides, Alexander Diamondclaw didn't particuarly need to hear anything else.

"The Inquisition works directly for Yagno Petrovna. Yagno Petrovna claims to work directly for Zhakata. Powerful priests are supposed to be able to raise their subjects from the dead. I wonder exactly how forgiving Yagno is to those who die in his service?" He pondered, his right hand starting to finger a long blade still bound by bright orange string.

Before he could eithe rundo or break that string however a bare hand closed around his own gloved one.

"Forigner, come with me if you want to live." Another seemingly random occupant of the black market pleeded.

Alexander had been prepared for a long drawn out battle with the inquisition and whatever soldiers they'd been forcing to serve them. He had not been prepared for a sudden turn of generosity or good luck thanks to the people of Zhukar.

On the other hand, he was already trapped inside this semi-abandoned brewery, what was this man going to do, lead him into some sort of even worse trap?

"All right, if you've got a better plan than fighting, show it to me." Alexander offered.

The man moved his arm to Alexander's shoulder and began to try and pull him through the mass of frigthened people. He did not have much luck, at least until Alexander began to throw his own weight into pressing against the crowd as well. Florence and Petchko swiftly followed in the human wake he managed create.

As various people ran in various directions, their unexpected rescurer lead them deeper into the brewery, so deep that there was no one else around. It might take the inquistion longer to search this far, but that was the only protection it offered.

Until the unkown man pressed his hand against a section of a wall. A section of the the wall which suddenly tilted out of their way revealing a long dark corridor.

"That's convient." Alexander couldn't help but reflect.

"A fortress with only one way out isn't a fortress, it is a trap." The black haired blue eyed man answered with a smile.

The four of them pressed into corridor and then their rescurer carefully closed the section of the wall behind them. He grabbed a flickering torch from a wall and headed off down the long dark coridor.

"So, who are you exactly and how did you know we were forigners?" Alexander inquried, now that there seemed to be little threat of them being captured by the inquisition for the moment.

The man smiled as he carefully gestured with the torch towards Alexander's sword.

"Your weapon was peace bonded. That and I do not believe I've seen anyone in Zhukar with hair quite like yours before. I've heard about it though, you've been making quite a stur in this city. I think that we could be very good friends..." He half answered.

As they walked forward the torch illuminated a simple circle containing an eclipsed sun that had been painted on one wall of the coridor.

"Which still doesn't tell me anything about who exactly you are." Alexander pressed.

"My name is Madar, and I lead the Circle of Darkness." Madar told them cooly.

End Chapter.

AN: Christmas happened, and then XCOM 2 happened. I'm sorry it took me nearly a month to get this chapter taken care of.


	7. Chapter 7

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Seven: Take an eye for an eye.

"'The Circle of Darkness', do you make many friends with a name like that?" Alexander Diamondclaw couldn't help but ask.

Madar smiled back at him, still confident in the face of his guest's sarcasm.

"Yes. We have more friends than you might expect. Certainly more friends than Rega suspects."

"Rega?" Florence repeated Madar's words in confusion.

Alexander had told her about how he'd heard the guards mentioning that particular name shortly after the group had entered Zhukar, but none of them had heard anyone reference it since then.

Surprisingly, Petchko promptly provided them with an explanation.

"Rega is Yagno Petrovna's most trusted confidant. He is the Scourge of the Temple who runs Zhakata's Inquisition..." The transformed priest all but whimpered.

"Did he have anything to do with you current sorry state?" Alexander casually inquired.

"Rega did not openly involve himself in my trial, but he openly involves himself in next to nothing. People don't even know what his last name is. If there is a conspiracy to blind Yagno Petrovna to the suffering of Zhukar, to make its people unjustly hate him, Rega would have much to gain." Petchko admitted.

Alexander and Madar exchanged quick looks that said far more than words ever could.

"The Circle of Darkness exists to fight the rampant corruption that… Rega… has helped spread through Zhukar, and indeed all of G'Henna. Long have we struggled righteously against the burdens Zhakata has placed upon our shoulders, but I believe that struggle is now reaching a tipping point." Madar explained.

"Because?" Alexander prompted the black haired man.

"Because of two brilliant strokes of luck in our favor. The first was your arrival of course. The second was that one of our agents inside the temple managed to recently discover how to free Zhakata the Provider." Madar declared proudly.

"There's no such thing!" Petchko pipped up instantly.

Madar placed a comforting hand on the transformed priest's shoulder and favored his misshapen face with a warm smile.

"You say there is no such thing because you have been taught there is no such thing. In turn, you have been taught there is no such thing… because Rega has deafen the ears of the entire world, including Yagno Petrovna himself to the words of Zhakata the Provider." Madar insisted in a slow and soothing tone.

Petchko was neither relaxed or mollified by this explanation, but it clearly had at least some effect on him, because he didn't try to shake off Madar's arm.

"How could one man, even the Scourge of the Temple do such a thing to a God?" He replied, sounding more worried than unconvinced.

"The journals that we located explains how. Even beings as powerful as gods have weaknesses, and Zhakata the Provider is not a god itself, only an aspect of a god.

Zhakata the Devourer places burdens upon our backs so that we might grow strong, but if all was right with the world, Zhakata the Provider would eventually remove those burdens once strength has been justly gained. Just as Zhakata the Devourer takes food so that through hunger enlightenment can be obtained, Zhakata the Provider gives food so that enlighten life can be sustained.

They are two sides of the same coin, the dark and the light, the dusk and the dawn, never meant to be separated from one another. Except that Rega did separate them, and because of that he has cast a terrible darkness across all of G'Henna. A darkness, in which we must plot and scheme, or else light will never come." Madar further confided to his three guests.

"Do you believe it is possible. Do you believe that a god can just be sealed away?" Petchko asked Alexander, his voice quavering at the very idea.

"I've had some experience with similar situations in the past. " The silver haired man admitted with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Since you mentioned that we were one of your strokes of luck, I'm going to assume that there is some particular task that you need us for?" Alexander promptly "guessed" in much the same way that a man might "guess" that he wouldn't step out onto a cloud if he left his house without bothering to look down.

Madar turned his attention to the tunnel's other two occupants and nodded.

"Your are correct. The journals we have uncovered talk of a stone that is not truly a stone, but actually one of Zhakata's eyes. It can grant its wielder fantastical powers, and it was through this stone that Rega was able to seal away Zhakata the Provider." Madar further explained.

"Probably thorughly enraging whatever was left of Zhakata the Devourer in the process. Loosing an eye is not a pleasant experience." Alexander growled.

"Why though? Why would Rega do such a horrible thing?" Petchko couldn't help but wonder.

"Look around you former priest. There is no relief, no joy, no hope in G'Henna. By sealing away Zhakata the Provider, he has helped insure that the people of G'Henna would never rise up in rebellion against him." Madar answered.

Petchko could find no way to refute this statement and so he simply stood mute.

"So, you need us to steal this stone, which I'm guessing having been the key to sealing away Zhakata the Provider, is also the key to unsealing him? I can't wait to hear the explanation for why it has to be us rather than any of your fellow rebels..." Alexander once again began to connect dots.

"The stone is kept within the Prime Temple of Zhakata. If any citizen of Zhukar was captured by the Inquisition while attempting such a thing, they would never rest until they had turned half the city upside down and inside out, hundreds, thousand of people would be tortured to death. If foreigners are caught doing it..." Madar awkwardly let that particular comment trail off.

Alexander did not enjoy being someone else's catspaw, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it.

"Well that explains how we can help you. How can you help us in turn?" He insisted.

The silver haired man might be willing to be a catspaw, but he was at determined to at least get something out of the experience.

"We can help your friend. Being companions of those who have been unjustly persecuted by the priests of Zhakata, the Circle of Darkness has extensive connections with others who have been likewise transformed. We can get him out of the city and help him find those who will not judge him because of how he looks. Likewise, when you inevitably need to exit the city surreptitiously and with great haste, we'll allow you to use those same methods." Madar offered.

"That is a nice start. How much in the way of coin or magical items can you offer us also?" Alexander demanded.

As much as he was willing to overturn Yagno Petrovna's applecart on general principle, his pack didn't live on the well wishes of others alone, and so he had to take a hard line on such matters.

There was a long silence and as the silver haired man saw the expression in Petchko's eyes he realized that this might be a somewhat overly secular discussion to have around him.

"Florence go run ahead of us and make sure this tunnel doesn't lead into some kind of trap. Take Petchko with you so he can heal you if you end up getting hurt." He suggested.

Alexander personally suspected that Florence Bastien's magic was far stronger than Petchko's, but she wasn't supposed to use it inside Zhukar. Besides, any excuse to leave him and Madar alone to discuss business would be a good excuse.

It worked, and soon the silver and black haired man had some privacy as they gazed at each other in the light of Madar's flickering torch.

"Do you know how much the people of Zhukar tithe to the priests of Zhakata? Not just food, but other valuables as well..." Madar inquired cautiously.

"Something like ten percent?" Alexander knew the answer based on what he'd heard in the market place.

"We'll provide you with a way into the Prime Temple, not to mention arrange a few distractions around the city so that most of its guards are pulled away. The Eye of Zhakata must be recovered, but along with it, you may take whatever you desire from the corrupt priesthood." Madar offered.

"You're being awfully quick to spend other people's money. Do you even know where this Eye of Zhakata is kept? Even if most of the guards are distracted and you have some method of getting us inside, having to wander randomly won't end well." Alexander predicted.

"There are other priests of Zhakata like your friend who still mean well. Not only do they mean well, but they've had the veil of ignorance lifted from their eyes. You will not only be given maps, but I can provide you with genuine cloaks of priesthood. Anyone can wear red, but the cloaks that priests of Zhakata wear have magical spells laid upon them that will automatically deactivate some of Temple Prime's defenses. Wearing those cloaks not only will the guards not bother you, unless they have good reason to suspect you they will obey any order you give them." Madar promised.

Alexander's single eye widened, that was a quite an attractive offer.

Which meant that it was time to deal with the other matter that would have been inconvenient to talk about when Petchko was around.

"You talk a good game about the evils of Rega and his corruption, but what does the Circle of Darkness really have planned for Yagno Petrovna?" Alexander wanted to know, if only so that he might get a chance to take part in it.

"You have seen Yagno Petrovna with your own eye. He is a man aged beyond even his considerable years. Zhakata has made him powerful, but he has no idea how to properly wield that power. When Zhakata the Provider rises again, he will supplicate himself blindly before his renewed god." Madar insisted.

"What if he doesn't?" The silver haired man preferred to have a backup plan as always.

"Zhakata the Provider will undoubtedly bestow great gifts upon those who free him from his imprisonment. If Yagno clings to his foolish notion that there is only Zhakata the Devourer who grants only burdens to those who follow him, we will increase those burdens until they crush him." Madar answered with a wicked smile.

Alexander could approve of that particular plan.

XXX XXX XXX

The tunnel exit, or at least the one that Madar guided them to came up still inside Zhukar's walls. It wasn't even too far from the guesting house where Alexander was staying. Petchko stayed behind with Madar, it would be safer for him to be outside the walls with the other transformed than inside with an entire city full of people who would happily abuse him on sight.

When Alexander returned to his room he found James, Mirri, Cal and Devi sitting there waiting for him.

"Hey boss we figured out what that strange symbol you were looking at is about!" The alchemist declared proudly.

"So did we Alex, it belongs to a group called..." James added hastily wanting to make it clear that he hadn't been loafing about all day either.

"The Circle of Darkness." The silver haired man interrupted them.

James' face fell so thoroughly that even his hat drooped.

End Chapter.

AN: XCOM 2. Way too much XCOM 2. Well, XCOM 2 and listening to a few new books from audible on my way too and from work that want my full attention so I don't do any writing. I should be able to do these at least once every two weeks and I know this chapter was super short anyway. Well it is here so at least I got something done and sometimes it is hard to come up with a creative way to do exposition. At least I won't have to worry about XCOM 2 playing for a good long while, I finished my Commander (Classic) Honestman (save as much as you want, but only reload either your most recent save, with the possible exception of reloading further back if errors/glitches cause your most recent save to become corrupted) run. It only took me about six tries, and only one try that got past the first month! So, yay!


	8. Chapter 8

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Eight: When in Rome do like a Roman.

There was a simple wooden package waiting on Alexander's doorstep the next morning. Granted he did not deem to open it until an hour after Zhakata's taking had concluded (and thus the ringing of bells had finally faded from his ears), but Leon ran a clean and safe guesting house, so no one had tried to disturb a package which had clearly been left for one of his !br0ken!

By the time the silver haired man could finally bring himself to open the package Florence had already brought it inside, and he found exactly what he was expecting.

Half a dozen bright red robes, each having a tiny human finger bone sewn into them in exactly the right place so that it would rest above the wearer's heart.

"It is nice to be needed." Alexander ruminated as he began to examine the robes more fully, trying to figure out how much of his normal clothing could easily be concealed beneath it.

The answer ended up being "not quite enough" all things considered. He needed to abandon his normal black outer attire (though luckily not Wolfclaw itself) and retain only a simple white shirt beneath to make it fit comfortably.

"It looks like Madar was telling the truth, these robes are probably genuine. Do you think that you can pass for one of Zhakata's followers though?" Florence inquired while donning her own cloak.

"Me? Be able to convince people that I'm a pompous jackass who insists that I'm one of the chosen of a higher power and thus I am always right? It might be a bit of a stretch, but somehow I think I might be able to pull it off." Alexander answered with a toothy smile.

Then he left the room carrying the four remaining robes to distribute to the others.

In the end Alexander wasn't the only one who ended up needing to leave some of their traditional clothing behind to fit properly into the recently provided priestly accoutrements: Cal had to part ways with both his brown cloak and Phoenix, while James needed to remove both his jacket and hat.

As the hat gently slid away from the young man's head his ears finally came into view. James Firecat's ears were wrong by just about every possible definition people use to gauge such organs.

They weren't in the right place, growing from the top of his head rather than sides. They were not the right shape, being more triangular or at least cone like than normal round human ears. They weren't the right texture, they were coated in slightly windswept crimson fur rather than being smooth. They certainly didn't move in the right way, they could twitch back and forth, showing a far greater range of movement than normal human ears.

In short, they looked more or less like what you would get if some insane surgeon (though in point of fact, not the one whom the group had encountered a while back) had decided to graft feline ears onto a human head. By this point none of the other five cared to remark on the strange sight of James' ears.

He came by them naturally after all, his mother had been a werecat, and so was he. Luckily the red robe's hood served to obscure his more exotic features far more effectively than they had for Petchko, though to be fair James had far less to hide.

"So the new plan is we wear these robes, walk right into the very seat of Yagno Petrovna's power, steal this 'eye of Zhakata' you friend talked about, assuming we can find it of course, then hopefully walk right out, without anyone realizing what we're doing, since that would lead to every resident of the temple and half the people of Zhukar being out for our heads." The alchemist reflected, dour as ever.

"It'll probably be more like three fourths of Zhukar actually." Devi interjected, doing nothing to sooth Cal's worries.

"Not forgetting that the only thing we have going for is these robes and your mysterious new acquaintance's words that this isn't just some gigantic trap?" He concluded with a sardonic eye roll.

Alexander held up a large (and rather heavily creased from recently being folded) piece of parchment that had also been included in the package. It was a map of prime temple of Zhakata, with one room in particular circled and a large arrow pointing to it.

"The black market I got invited to had already turned into a pretty big trap before Madar helped us escape." Alexander countered.

"The market raid probably only involved a few dozen or so guys getting ready to deal with normal every day trouble makers. If they're gonna put a stop to you Boss, Yagno will need a couple hundred or so of his very best. Which conveniently he'll have in the middle of his temple..." Cal argued, still suspicious of their recent turn of fortune.

"We've got the cloaks, we've got the map, we've even got this..." Alexander twisted the map around slightly so that the others could see the parchment more clearly.

On the side of it that was not dedicated to capturing Zhakata's greatest temple in considerable detail was a list of passwords, signs and counter signs that would offer them further aid in pretending to be priests.

"Things don't go this smooth for us. They never go this smooth." Cal couldn't help but still worry, in his experience if life served you something wonderful looking on a silver platter, it was probably poisoned, or at least illusionary.

"What would you suggest we do then? Refuse and make an enemy of the Circle of Darkness?" Devi pointed out.

"Sitting around in the guesting house all day is no fun. Besides, the priests of Zhakata probably already hate us anyway. If there's one thing I know, it's that priests of gods like Zhakata hate anyone who wants to have any fun." Mirri added as she adjusted her robes to better hide her white gloves.

The Lamordian sighed as he realized how pointless this particular debate was going to be. Not only was Alexander Diamondclaw fully capable of behaving like a wolf with a bone when it came to having made up his mind and decided to do something foolish, he honestly couldn't think of anything better, much as he hated to admit it to himself.

Which was exactly why he wasn't going to admit it to any of the others.

Still, sooner or later free thinking Lamordians like himself inevitably drew the ire of religious zealots. Sooner or later that ire inevitably turned to outright hatred, and sooner or later people started gathering big pieces of wood, rope and oil. Sooner or later the followers of Zhakata were bound to turn on him, so he might as well go along with Alexander's plan and turn on them first instead.

"What do you think the prime temple of Zhakata will be like?" James Firecat asked eagerly.

He had a far more positive view of religion than most of his companions, being an active believer in the feline goddess Bastet. Alas time temple he'd been a temple that had been actively devoted to his patron goddess, said temple had been in a rather decrepit state at the time. It had also been filled with undead cats and bizarre feline themed death traps (along with a few of a more banal nature) which had made the visit somewhat less than enjoyable. To say nothing of the fact that he'd been possessed by some sort of bizarre quasi-godlike spirit...

Alexander began to draw on both what he had seen of the temple while watching Yagno Petrovna preach and what the map suggested.

"If I had to guess..." He sighed.

XXX XXX XXX

"Pretty much like this." The silver haired man finally got around to answering about an hour later now that indeed they were inside the city's largest temple to Zhakata.

The process of getting inside the temple had been surprisingly smooth. Mirri had made sure to work her "charming personality" on their host so that he didn't ask any questions or think anything out of the ordinary about six of his guests departing dressed in bright red robes.

Outside, there had been nothing that could have possibly prevented them from drawing attention of course. Luckily with that attention came an equal mix of fear and respect. Everyone, even soldiers carrying blades marked with red cloth or string were quick to part before the gathering of "priests" out walking Zhukar's streets.

Even the soldiers guarding the gates to the temple proved scarcely more of an obstacle. They had offered a challenge, but its answer had been provided to the group on the back of the map.

With the door opened before them, the group was able to head inside the temple itself.

After passing a quartet of guards who seemed to exist to keep the liturgical riffraff from getting to lay eyes on things they shouldn't, they were finally able to have some privacy. Not a lot of course, as one might expect, the largest most important temple of Zhakata was a busy place.

Luckily it seemed that Petchko had been right about the fear of Rega that permeated the temple, since none of the other people walking the temple found anything noteworthy about the sight of six priests standing around having a hushed private conversation inside the temple.

The other thing they had going for them was that no matter how repressive his edicts might be, Zhakata didn't seem to pick favorites between men or women, human or elves. Granted, there probably weren't any dryads who had dedicated themselves to worshiping the Beast-God, which was why Florence had made sure to slather herself down with a few ointments and mixtures that Cal had brewed up. They wouldn't last forever and might not hold up under intense inspection, but at least a single glance at her face wouldn't cause people to raise the alarm.

Now that they were finally there, the inside of the temple was decorated almost exactly how Alexander would have predicted it to be; icons of Zhakata galore, mosaics made from more of that "faux ivory" and portraits which depicted important moments from the life of Yagno Petrovna.

The first one they came upon was relatively unremarkable, showing only his birth, which while done in the common fanciful "clean" style for birth, at least it didn't include a chorus of angels or other divine beings blessing the occasion.

The second one was much more mystical, it showed Yagno Petrovna as a young man (though with his long thin face Yagno was depicted as the type of child who was born to be an old man) cowering against one side of a small cave. On the wall opposite him was the word "Zhakata" carved in letters that glowed red like freshly poured magma.

The third one showed what at first glance looked like Yagno Petrovna (for once with his eyes fully open and burning with a fiery passion) preforming some kind of blessed rite upon a young child. It seemed quite innocent and wholesome, until you looked closer and noticed the knife starting to emerge from Yagno's brown robes (clearly he hadn't established red as Zhakata's chosen color yet) along with the fact that there was no one around but him and the child.

As they proceeded further down the hallway they came upon a fourth picture, showing Yagno bowing his head in some unknown location (the place seemed to have walls made exclusively of bones wherever it was) before some bipedal creature that if not the avatar of Zhakata then was surely some great servant of the Beast God.

Since they were certainly being observed by the others going up and down the hallway Alexander held back a dismissive snort at what he was certain had to be nothing more than baseless propaganda designed to bolsters Yagno Petrovna's ego and reputation.

As they left the hallway and came to a room which had at least three other exits Alexander was glad that he'd memorized the map they'd been given quite extensively. He had it folded up and tucked away inside a pocket of his red robe just in case of course, but it might raise some suspicions if priests who had supposedly worshiped at the temple for several years suddenly needed to consult a map to figure out where they were going.

He lead the other five through another doorway beneath yet another statue of Zhakata. This hallway was a bit less sparsely populated than the main entrance-way they'd been walking down only a few moments ago, in fact there was only one other occupant headed their way.

He was an obviously a soldier rather than a priest given that he wore armor rather than a robe, and had a red arm band visible just below his gauntlets. Like most occupants of G'Henna he had black hair and blue eyes, with his hair worn relatively loose if still neatly trimmed.

His sword was in its scabbard, and instead his hands held a piece of parchment along with what must have been a magical pen of some sort, since he was able to write with it without it dribbling ink all over the place.

It would hardly be the first such pen the group had encountered (Cal owned at least three), but it was surprising to find that one had worked its way into the hands of what seemed to be a guard of no great importance. Still, he was so intently focused on the piece of parchment that he was within ten feet of the group before being careful to swing out of their way. The six could have doubtlessly passed the soldier without any real interaction, if he hadn't muttered four simple words to himself.

"It doesn't add up." Was all he said, and indeed all he needed to say.

Such words called to Devi Skye as a siren's song calls to the ship captain, as a freshly poured mug of mead calls to the sot. She turned around and called out to the soldier in an appropriately haughty tone of voice.

"What does not add up?" She demanded to know at once.

The guard turned to face her, his face going several shades paler as he found himself being directly addressed by one of his red robbed superiors.

"Forgive me Mother. Father Sorin has given me a task so that I might better hone not just my body but also my mind for the service of Zhakata. I am to calculate the amount of food we receive during the Taking of Zhakata, then the amount we give out during Zhakata's Dole and finally the amount we sacrifice to Zhakata himself. I have spent much of the day researching all the related figures… yet they do not add up." He explained with a look of honest befuddlement.

Devi Skye said nothing, she simply held out her right hand imperiously.

The sheaf of parchment that the soldier had been working on was handed over. He then began to clumsily search through various pockets and pouches of his uniform, before removing and passing over a few more slightly crumpled sheets which proved to be the first steps of his research.

Elves lived longer than humans, in theory something like seven times longer. In practice it could effectively be even longer than that since less of their lifespan consisted of either mindless infancy or doddering senility.

Many elves devoted their lives to horticultural pursuits, the creation of fancy poems, ballads, or other bits of what Devi Skye considered ultimately irrelevant frippery. She had devoted herself to numbers; numbers were hard, numbers were important, numbers were something that you could count on to keep you alive.

In short order her keen eyes began to work their way through the various numbers that were laid out before her. Then she reached out a hand and placed it upon the soldier's head as if she was granting him absolution for a sin.

"I have tallied all the numbers that you have collected. If the amount of food being given to the temple is not being over-reported, and the amounts being offered to Zhakata or given to the people is not being under-reported, then you are correct. The numbers do not add up." She declared with complete finality as she began to hand back the sheaves of parchment.

The soldier took them, and then nodded his head slowly.

"Clearly there must be a few figures related to Zhakata's Dole who I have not yet gotten a chance to talk with. I will seek to rectify the mistake at once." He declared proudly before quickly speeding off.

Devi for her part turned back to the others with a still calm serene look on her face.

"Well, that was hardly unexpected." She reflected while confidently crossing her arms.

"You think that some priest has his hand in the till?" Callan Wright pondered.

It did not take much to get the alchemist to suspect corruption. He chiefly assumed that everyone in the world (save for a few breathtakingly rare exceptions like as James Firecat) would behave in much the same (if less logical and intelligent) manner as he would; IE be an asshole.

Those who held power of any type; be it political, military, financial, or of a more ephemeral nature, would use said power to make those who did not have power suffer. He only needed to consider the way that Alexander kept using his own charismatic power and promises (promises that ninety percent or so of the time he managed to keep, but he couldn't know that when making them) of financial gain to keep placing Callan Wright in various types of mortal peril.

So, if he was a priest of Zhakata, and had a steel tight grip on the supply of food flowing through Zhukar… well suffice to say he wouldn't be going hungry any time soon.

That food which had been available for purchase in the black market had to come from somewhere after all. Not only that, but the priests and soldiers of Zhukar seemed to be the only occupants of the city who didn't have a hollow eyed-air of starvation about them.

"So how much food exactly are they managing to squirrel away?" Florence pressed.

Devi sighed and began to make a couple of awkwardly groping hand motions.

"Even I can't be completely sure at the moment. Like our newest acquaintance himself said, it is entirely possible that he just doesn't have all the figures, it might really all add up properly in the end. The smart money though is riding on Zhakata's priesthood has more than enough food to go around. Which probably in turn would lead to there being some very interesting numbers indeed to be found if anyone looked at how much cash on hand various priests have..." She couldn't help but ponder.

With that "cheery" thought on their minds the group pressed further on into the temple.

AN: Behold, this chapter only took me three weeks to write and post, as opposed to the last two which took me a full month! I'm getting back in the swing of things! In all seriousness I've killed off/burnt through most of the audio books that I've been enjoying and am now re-listening to some stuff which helps me get into a comfortable grove where I can properly write once again.

I plan to hopefully start seriously kicking some butt on this thing, especially since this is going to be one of the most important Monster Party stories, so it is time I really started putting the pedal to the metal and working on it!

Also let me know if this chapter seems especially slap dash/awkward to read, I'll admit I uploaded and proofread it all in one night, which I don't normally do, so let me know if the quality seems about average, or it is obvious that I should have slept on it then given it one more round of revisions.


	9. Chapter 9

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Nine: If I had my way, if I had my way, if I had my way, I would tear this whole building down!

"What is the face of Zhakata?" That was the question asked by the next major group that the six adventurers encountered.

It wasn't directed at them so much as at the world in general, spoken by an elaborately adorned man who was being followed by a full dozen other priests. The man's face was familiar, especially given how many paintings of him they'd recently walked by.

Yagno Petrovna.

"The face… it must be the face of the Devourer, it must only be the face of the Devourer..." Yagno managed to speak in a strange mix of mumble and shout, as if he both wanted no one else to hear, yet was desperate for someone else to supply him with an answer all the same.

The priests who followed after him bobbed their heads in rapid agreement.

"Yes, Lord Petrovna. Absolutely my lord!" They all readily agreed.

It was hard to tell if their agreement was true conviction or simply a desire to avoid disagreeing with anything the high priest of Zhakata said.

Just as the two groups were about to pass, Yagno stopped shot, tilted his head upwards slightly so that he could look eyes to eye with Alexander Diamondclaw, and jabbed an accusatory finger at him.

"You! What is the face of Zhakata?!" He demanded to know at once.

Cal Wright, Devi Skye, and Florence Bastien all adjusted their robes so as to hide their faces from Yagno Petrovna then sent Alexander looks which all conveyed more or less the exact same message. Only to what degree the look was could be classified as either pleading or scolding changed.

Since they were standing behind him Alexander couldn't see those looks of course, but the gazes were so forceful they could practically make their presence known through the back of his head.

Alexander Diamondclaw promptly proceeded to completely ignore all of them.

"What is the face of Zhakata? What is the face of the greatest power we could ever know? High Priest Petrovna, I tell all who follow me that surely it is the face of a wolf." He declared without a moment of hesitation.

Twelve priestly faces (and a few of Alexander's companions) promptly went white with shock, even Yagno Petrovna's eyes (which up until now had possessed of a tired half squint) went wide with surprise.

The priests who had been following Yagno seemed more than ready to let loose with bellows of blasphemy, heresy, and who knew what other theological accusation, but Yagno stilled them with a single raised hand. He then draped that arm over Alexander's shoulder (thankfully failing to notice the feel of Wolfclaw's sheath beneath Alexander's robes) in an almost friendly gesture.

"A wolf? You must tell me, why do you see a wolf?" He asked, surprisingly sounding more curious than accusatory.

"What is there to be learned, what is there to be gained from knowing or worshiping gods if we can not know their faces, not know their minds? If they are so far beyond us as to be utterly incomprehensible, than why would they ever waste the effort to comprehend us? If they do not comprehend us, then why should we ever expect them to care for us? Gods must have a face, gods must have flesh, flesh that at times they can be able to fear for. I see the face of a wolf. It is is harsh, it is savage, but it is fair." The one eyed man declared solemnly.

Yagno slowly continued his walk down the corridor, and Alexander had little choice but to proceed alongside him, even if it was taking them further away from where he wanted to be.

"Fair? Why should the face, why should the rule of a god be fair?" The high priest of Zhakata questioned.

"Life is harsh enough already. Our lives are defined by how we scratch, hunt, battle, and struggle for every single breath that we can possibly draw. We never win in the end, sooner or later either due to our own mistakes, or simple ill fortune, we will fail, we fall, and we will perish. Yet, still we struggle all the same.

In the struggle, we are defined. In the struggle, we are glorious, we are each a star burning brightly against a sky of infinite darkness. There is no light in this world, but that we make for ourselves, that others make for us and we in turn make for them. Before the face of a wolf, is the struggle called life truly judged." Alexander answered.

Yagno was silent for a moment, the only sound was the collection of various footsteps echoing off the temple floor.

"You believe that Zhakata has the face of a wolf, because if he does not, then life itself is meaningless." He eventually concluded.

"If Zhakata does not have the face of a wolf then I would not serve him." Alexander agreed.

"Without that feral face gazing down upon us, we are lost in the darkness of our own petty bigotries and ignorance. Without that face to make us question ourselves, to make us struggle and redefine ourselves, what purpose could we hope to find in life? It is only when we see that face, only when we can stand proudly before it, that life is worth living.

Haven't you seen the face of Zhakata yourself high priest Yagno?" Alexander Diamondclaw further continued, concluding his comments with a question of his own.

Yagno Petrovna removed his arm from Alexander Diamondclaw's shoulder. He turned away from him and back to the gaggle of priests he'd been originally followed by.

"Yes, yes of course I have seen the face of Zhakata. I saw his name written upon a wall as but a child, and thus I dedicated my entire life to him. I have dedicated my entire life to Zhakata, and many times I have seen his face!" He insisted before shaking a finger at one of the priests.

"You, tell me off the first time you saw Zhakata's face!" He demanded at once.

The priest began to speak of his own conversion while shuffling along down the corridor away from Alexander and his companions.

Only once they'd vanish from sight did Cal speak up, and even then only in a whisper.

"You just gotta poke the dragon don't you Boss?" He sighed in exasperation.

Alexander resumed his journey in the direction he'd originally been going and the others followed after him.

"Yagno Petrovna asked me a sincere question from the bottom of his heart, was I supposed to lie to the poor man?" He shot back, sounding offended at the very concept of the idea.

"Yes!" The alchemist insisted at once.

"I've seen you lie to anyone, make that just about everyone we've ever met! I really hope putting on these robes didn't make you think that you're actually sort of a priest..." The dirty blond haired man muttered grinding his teeth together in irritation.

"Okay let ask another question. Did you really expect me to lie to Yagno Petrovna, if I thought I could hurt him more with the truth?" The group's leader countered.

To this Callan Wright could find only one very obvious answer, and so he simply stomped a foot in disapproval. Then he risked a glance in the direction the baker's dozen of priests had departed, as if to make doubly certain that no group of guards were about to come rushing down it with zealous murder on their minds.

"Maybe you could have told him that he could, just stop, believing in Zhakata? That would have been fun!" Mirri offered with a throaty chuckle.

Alexander sighed as he worked a hand under his hood so that he could stroke some of his currently hidden hair.

"Fun, but not exactly likely to succeed. Belief tends to be a lot harder to shake than we give it credit for. You could just stop believing in Kali any time you wanted after all, at least Yagno seems to get priestly magic as a result of his faith." The tall man pointed out.

Mirri turned away from him and possessively began to rub a hand over the wristband of skulls she wore on her right arms.

"Don't listen to him Black Mother. I know that the only reason you haven't given me magic is because where is the fun supposed to be in zapping someone with mystical energy when you could just tear their head off instead?" She insisted.

Luckily with Yagno's departure this particular hallway had been left completely deserted aside from the group meaning that there was no priests or soldiers around to hear their extremely incriminating conversation.

James slightly taken in by one of Mirri's rare sincerely faithful moments began to reach a red gloved hand into his robes.

Before said hand was able to complete it's journey however Mirri' let go of her arm and seized his.

"No, no no no, no." She insisted.

Mirri knew that James kept a black stone icon of Bastet concealed in one of his jacket's many pockets, only bringing it out on rare occasions. This was undoubtedly not the time for him to have one of said moments. They might be able to get away with a fair amount in here, but openly displaying the symbol of a god other than Zhakata was bound to be contraindicated.

James let his arm go limp and then nodded calmly as he realized the mistake he'd been about to make.

"As fun as dumping on religion is, and believe me, it is pretty much the national sport of Lamordia, surpassed only by skiing and grave robbing, we really should keep moving along." The alchemist suggested.

The group exchanged a series of curt nods, and then they kept moving along.

XXX XXX XXX

The room where they could supposedly find the Eye of Zhakata was a large room dedicated to his worship. It contained parallel rows of benches that could have held hundreds of priests stood thankfully empty at the moment. The walls were adorned with tapestries, icons and plaques honoring Zhakata as well as many skeletal figures who had probably become martyrs to his faith, through starvation if nothing else.

At one end of the chamber was a huge dais, on top of which hunched a twelve foot tall bronze statue of Zhakata the Devourer. The statue's head was mounted on a squat dwarfish body. Its wide open mouth, surrounded by a fence of two foot long teeth, was locked in a permanent howl of rage.

Around the statue's base was the charred remains of what had once probably been a small feast. The basin of this bizarre statue's mouth was filled with still more hot ash. Clearly this statue was used for some ritual involving placing the food in the statue's mouth, before lighting it aflame.

The room was occupied by four other people, two of them priests, and two of them soldiers who were busy gathering prayer sheets from a worship service that had most likely been recently concluded.

The two soldiers looked up suspiciously at the group when they first entered, but seeing their red robes quickly returned to their work.

The priests were if anything even more suspicious but didn't say anything, yet.

Alexander didn't intend to give them the chance.

He leaned back and seem to nonchalantly stretch, while in reality he was giving a series of complex hand signals behind his back.

Then he slowly began to approach one of the priests, with Mirri heading towards the other.

"Excuse me father I was just wondering..." He began, before promptly decking the priest of Zhakata without further ado.

Just as he finished speaking Mirri grabbed the other priest and wrestled him to the ground, headbutting him and grabbing both of his hands in her own suddenly bone crushing grip.

One of the soldiers began to cry out in shocked horror but he never got the chance. Before a word could even leave his mouth Devi's flail shot out from her priestly robes and wrapped tight around his neck choking him into silence.

The last soldier went down as James shoved a hand over his mouth and held him still before Cal whacked him upside the head with a simple small metal rod.

There was nothing at all technically advanced or magical about the item, it was just something easily concealable and more than hard enough to hit people with.

"Well that was fun. I give us five minutes at most before someone barges in here and we all end up running for our lives." Cal predicted as he then got to work closing the door, hoping that people wouldn't take this as a reason to investigate.

"He may be pessimistic, but the sooner we find the Eye of Zhakata, the better. Any idea where it is?" Devi pondered as she began to scan the room.

Alexander's single eye quickly alighted on the large statue of Zhakata.

"He said that Rega hid the Eye somewhere in this room. If I was going to hide something, I wouldn't put it somewhere no one would look, I'd put it somewhere no one could see." The group's leader surmised.

As he approached the statue he began to slide Wolfclaw free from its sheath. Then the silver haired man began to vigorously stab his blade into the piles of ash again and again and again and again.

The open jaws of the statue were about a foot and a half apart, and judging by how much of Wolfclaw had been able to penetrate them the ash was about three feet deep.

Only after well over two dozen stabs did he finally relent and re-sheath his weapon with a satisfied smirk on his face.

Florence meanwhile began to slowly approach the statue's mouth and the pile of ashes within it.

"Those look pretty freshly burnt Alex, do you want me to use magic to… well never mind." The dryad's offer of protection promptly gave way to a weary sigh as Alexander Diamondclaw simply grabbed hold of the statue's teeth and began to pull himself through its mouth so that he could properly lay on top of the ashes and inspect the entire basin.

"Sir, are you okay?" Mirri called out, a little worried that this might be too much abuse even for Alexander Diamondclaw.

"I've had worse. Anyway lets see what I can find..." He insisted.

Alexander began to reach a hand through the ashes, and almost instantly his expression grew more joyous.

"You found the Eye?" James asked, for some reason the werecat was feeling a great deal more skittish than normal.

"No, I just found some chunks of dead, I don't quite know what, but it was probably still alive and not very friendly before I stabbed it.

Then he went back to searching through the ashes. It took him almost a minute, but then his single eye went wide.

"There we go, there's something in here and it feels like has been bolted to the bottom of the basin. Just give me a few moments to work it loose..." He declared proudly.

At which point the statue's jaws suddenly slammed shut.

"Zhakata..." The statue somehow managed to rumble even though its mouth was shut.

Out of pure instinct Callan Wright brought up the single weapon that he'd brought with him into the temple.

Then the rational part of his brain took over, did a quick comparison between the massive bronze statue and the small metal rod, and realized it would take a much braver (that is to say stupider) man than him just to even try.

Which meant that instead he'd have to rely on the tools he'd brought with him instead.

Since the entire "sneak in, sneak out, nobody is left the wiser" part of the plan was pretty much shot he cast aside his red cloak completely to at least give him more freedom of movement.

He might not have been able to bring Phoenix or any of his guns… but he did still have a small collection of his favorite potions at hand.

"Bronze is made by mixing copper and tin, you know what those both have in common? Neither of them react well to sulfuric acid!" The alchemist declared proudly as he grabbed a bottle filled with ominously clear liquid and hurled it at the statue's teeth.

The huge thing tried to dodge but the even if the statue was somehow alive it wasn't possessed of truly unstatue like speed. The bottle smashed against its teeth and the liquid splashed over them, immediately starting to hiss and fizzle.

Cal was certain that he'd need a great deal more acid to get the job done, but it was a start at least.

"Zhakata..." The statue wheezed contemptuously as it began to stride forward towards the group.

Florence Bastien dropped her staff and instead pressed both of her green gloved hands against one of the statue's legs.

"Metal has never truly lived, and that makes it so very easy to kill." As she spoke tendrils of brown rust raced up the leg that she had pressed them against.

In scant seconds the leg had rusted worse than if it had spent a decade under water. When the beast took its next step forward the rusted leg let loose with a horrendous screech before breaking free and toppling to the ground.

The statue itself followed shortly after with bone rattling force.

Granted while a living being would probably be rather distressed over the lost of a limb, this statue didn't seem to be any less stoically determined to simply continue its murderous rampage.

"Zhakata..." Its voice boomed as it reached out a huge arm to grab Florence.

If anything loosing its leg seemed to make the statue's remaining limbs move faster, as its arm darted forward faster than Florence Bastien could move.

Not faster than James Firecat though.

Before the statue had even finished voicing another "Z", the werecat had started moving. He came up behind Florence, scooped her up in both arms and bounded into the air like his boots were made out of rubber.

Thus the statue's arm thus ended up closing only on empty air.

WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM!

A horrendous banging sound echoed from within the statue's mouth and a moment later one of its teeth (slightly eroded by the acid) popped out.

"I've got the Eye, just keep it distracted a little longer!" Alexander called out to his companions before he went back to battering away at the teeth.

"Easy for you to say Sir. Where is the fun in fighting this thing supposed to be?" Harrumphed Mirri Catwarrior as she managed a tremendous leap of her own to land atop the statue's head.

She began to stamp down upon it repeatedly, and somehow her feet managed to actually dent, the bronze, though they were unable to do any true sort of damage.

"Zhakata..." The statue growled, sounding as irritated as a unliving statue could.

It reached up one of its hands, determined to put a stop to the stomping.

This time it had better luck since James already had his hands full and Mirri was too busy attacking to worry about defending herself.

Except that the moment after it managed to close its massive fingers around Mirri, suddenly all it was holding was nothing, nothing but a handful of mist.

The mist flowed away from the monster, and then promptly pooled itself back together transforming back into Mirri Catwarrior who looked none the worse the wear from the experience.

"Vampirism. The solution to all of life's little problems, including life itself." Mirri chuckled.

While she was happily extolling the virtues of terminal anemia, Devi Skye was hard at work on the door. I seemed like some magical spell had been activated when the door had been closed which was now working to keep it from being opened, even from the inside.

"This is stupid." She muttered before taking a step back and removing the glove she wore on her right hand.

Each of her knuckles was adorned with a differently colored ring. The one she wore on her middle finger began to sparkle, and a moment later a bolt of lighting shot forth from her hand and slammed into the door blasting a roughly human sized hole in it.

Luckily, magical lighting wasn't accompanied by a thunderclap and so she hadn't just given way their position to everyone in the temple… at least not any more than the sound of people fighting a living statue already had.

A moment later another pair of the statue's teeth were knocked free and there now was an opening large enough for Alexander Diamondclaw to crawl through. He pulled himself along with one hand, the other gripped tightly around a broken necklace from which a black jewel dangled.

"Time to be leaving!" The silver haired man insisted not even glancing backwards as he started running the moment his feet hit the ground and barely outpaced the monstrous statue's arms as they attempted to grab hold of him.

"Don't have to tell me twice." Cal agreed as he ducked through the hole that Devi had blasted.

"When was the last time you carried me?" Mirri huffed, looking at James, who at the moment still had Florence in his arms.

The werecat shot the dryad a questioning look and once she was clearly prepared he slowly lowered her back to the ground. Then he turned his attention back to the vampire.

"I think it was the bridge in the Shadow Rift…. Why, would you like me to carry you now?" He asked in a distinctly befuddled tone.

Mirri's own face took on a distinctly befuddled expression as if she had no idea how to answer.

"ZHAKATA!" The monstrous statue roared as it began to drag itself across the room towards them.

"Yeah, guess I would." Mirri finally made up her mind, sounding far more composed than most would have in her situation.

James gave a perfunctory shrug, scooped the vampire up in his arms and raced for the door.

"I hope you have a plan." Devi warned Alexander as he reached the door.

"Yes. Step one is run, though I'll admit step two is still a bit of a work in progress..." The silver haired man answered.

"ZHAKATA!" The animated statue cried out as it managed to easily smash through the remains of what had sadly once been a very large door.

Large enough in fact that it was able to continue its pursuit.

As the half a dozen adventurers came barreling down the hall they ran into a roughly equal (nobody wanted to stop and count) number of priests of Zhakata coming the other way.

Alexander started lying like there was no tomorrow.

"I've got the prisoner!" He screamed authoritatively, grabbing Cal in a choke-hold that was perhaps just a little too tight.

To his credit the alchemist did managed to wheeze out at least a few words that could be heard above the statue's echoing movements.

"You're too late! I've already corrupted one of your precious statues! It will destroy you all!" He cackled malevolently.

James Firecat momentarily looked down to Mirri Catwarrior who he was currently holding in his hands and then back at the other priests.

"It has already injured one of our sister priests! I have to get her out of here!" He insisted.

The priests said something, it didn't really matter what. They were nearly as confused as the group of adventurers, and didn't quite have enough initiative to try and detain another group of people who seemed to be dressed as priests, give or take one prisoner they had clearly captured.

Whatever they said, by the time they said it, the group was among them.

Then they were past the priests and the genuine priests of Zhakata were now between them and the rampaging statue.

"Zhakata!" It called out again as it continued to crawl down the hallway.

Alexander still wasn't completely sure what had brought the statue to life, and he didn't really care. He was at the very least fairly certain that whatever it was, it probably wasn't great at telling friends from foes.

Even if it was, the hallway was too narrow for it to get at its true targets without going through the group of priests, and given that its vocabulary had so far consisted of only a single word, it probably wasn't capable of persuading those priests that they were actually on the same side even if it wanted to.

"Zhakata…." It hissed again, the sound growing fainter as the group turned a corner, and a few moments later it was joined by various arcane incantations.

The group ran, and ran, and ran, and ran. Whenever they encountered another group of priests Alexander kept repeating variations on the theme of his first lie. All those priest needed to know was that he had captured a prisoner and that they had to get him out of the temple before he was able to corrupt any more hallowed statues of Zhakata. This was accompanied by extravagant gestures in the direction the group had come running from.

Somehow, it worked.

No one was willing to directly order Alexander to stop running, and no one was able to keep up with him for long enough to ask any awkward to answer question.

In a small stampede of rapidly running adventures they burst out of the temple, practically flew by the guards outside with one more hastily shouted explanation, and then they were back into the city of Zhukar proper.

They were safe….ish.

End Chapter.

AN: I'm sorry we haven't seen much of Cal's potion belt in a while. Firearms are just so much simpler to use most of the time, and I'm not sure if it is my laziest or Cal's practicality (when in doubt try and shoot a monsters/bad guys first before worrying about getting fancy) which means he typically tries to resolve his problems with Phoenix or turn to Florence for magical support.

Speaking of Florence and magical support, the spell she's using here is "Rusting Grasp" a favorite of druids who want to punish foes for wielding metal weapons, metal weapon, or destroying metal barriers. It also mesh's well with her outlook on life. Trees can live for centuries, metal rusts well before then.


	10. Chapter 10

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Ten: Son when you grow up, would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the dammed?

Having escaped from Zhakata's temple, the group headed back into the city, making sure to duck into the first alley they could find. As useful as the red cloaks had been for getting around the temple, they drew slightly too much attention when worn outside of it.

Not only that, but if they moved at anything more rushed than an aggravated stroll, the amount of attention they drew would inevitably start increasing exponentially. The people of Zhukar respected and obeyed the priests, but they also watched them very intently for fear of angering them. If the group ended up bumping into someone while they were rushing around in priestly vestments, the person they'd collided with probably wouldn't feel safe again until they'd handed over half of their worldly possession and at one family member….

So the six adventurers discarded their robes, doing so in turns while being careful to always have one of their number keeping lookout. Keeping lookout, and also standing directly in the line of sight of anyone who might accidentally see what was going on. After that, they simply strolled out of the alley at a briskish pace, looking nonchalant as possible.

Back in their everyday outfits, the group should be safe from the Church of Zhakata's first round of repercussions, when they were trying to find the ones directly responsible for desecrating their temple. They would not be safe from the second round though, when the church having failed to find the actual guilty party, decided to start rounding up anyone who had irritated them and seeing if it couldn't 'convince' them to confess.

People like foreigners who had been behaving in a distinctly blase manner towards the holy writ of Zhakata, simply because they claimed to worship other gods.

The six of them needed to be out of Zhukar before that particular shoe dropped. So, when they reached their guesting house Mirri had one last "charming" (in the sense of making liberal use of her vampiric charm gaze ability) conversation with Leon while the rest of the group retrieved what possessions they had left behind.

Alexander paid the man one more batch of coins before checking out. That done, they headed for the secure location in the city's underground tunnels where they'd last parted ways with the Circle of Darkness.

Along the way Alex had gotten Florence to add some string, strengthen, and finally enchant the broken strands which held the Eye of Zhakata. The necklace was made whole once more and the silver haired man now wore jewel around his throat (having been careful to tuck it beneath the folds of his white undershirt so that it would draw less attention) the safest place that he could think of to keep it.

When they reached the underground passage the only thing they found waiting for them was empty air.

"Well this is just great, now I guess we just stand around and twiddle our thumbs till the faithful of Zhakata hunt us down." Cal groaned in irritation.

James Firecat's hands began to twitch slightly as he looked around the unremarkable passage, the young werecat evidently quite bored with their dull surroundings.

A moment later Mirri Catwarrior's hands began to twitch as well.

Alexander's single eye darted around the room before eventually settling upon those hands.

Then with shocking abruptness he reached out with his right arm, grabbed a handful of nothing and yanked it upwards.

He was gripping nothing, and yet he wasn't quite able to depress his fingers to the point that they rested against his palm.

"I've had a really rough day. I got woken up by a bunch of incredibly loud bells, had to play dress up, parade around inside a temple full of people who I hate, and got 'eaten' by a statue. When I have rough days, it makes me angry, and when I get angry I get unreasonable. Would you terribly mind not making my day any more aggravating than it already is?" He asked a patch of empty air.

A moment later the air flickered and a man became visible.

He was dressed in a brown cloak and his feet were currently dangling off the ground because Alexander had managed to seize him about the throat.

"Had to take precautions! Inquisition could have come here first!" The black haired blue eyed man gasped out in a slightly choked voice.

"They could have, but they didn't. We came here first. It would have been nice for you to drop your spell of invisibility and welcome us as friends of the Circle. A little respect and civility can go a long way, Mador seemed to understand that when he helped rescued me and my black haired companion." The silver haired man sighed, sounding more upset than angry.

"It was Madar, and you had the blond haired woman with you! Her and a transformed priest named Petchko!" The formerly invisible man corrected.

Alexander slowly nodded and lowered the robbed man to the floor.

"Hmm, while you're a bit lacking in manners you do value attention to detail over blindly agreeing with whatever your told, so I suppose that's something. I take it Madar sent you?" He questioned.

"Did you get the Eye?" The robbed man pestered.

Alexander's black gloved hand, which had just let go of the man in brown, promptly seized him about the throat again.

"Lets try this again. You're using me to help accomplish your goals. I'm somewhat less than enthusiastic about this prospect but I'm willing to play along… if I get rewarded and shown the proper respect. I was 'hired' to do what no one else in Zhukar could do. So, you'll answer my questions first. I take it Madar sent you?" Alexander repeated.

"I was sent by Bolsh. He runs the Circle within Zhukar." The robbed man answered and was rewarded by having his throat released again.

"I see. Your name is?" Alexander pressed, twitching his fingers just a bit for effect.

"Olvoro." Olvoro promptly responded.

"Pleasure to meet you Olvoro, I'm Alexander Diamondclaw. I understand that the Circle of Darkness has places it can hide us in Zhukar where even the inquisition won't be able to find us?" The silver haired man asked dispassionately.

"No it doesn't. But we can get you out of the city and hide you among the transformed. They inquisition is powerful, but not so powerful that it can find people in the desert." The Circle of Darkness' representative replied.

"There's that attention to detail. Sorry but Madar seemed not to think I was important or trustworthy enough to give me any sort of pass-phrase for dealing with your organization. A man winds up getting a touch paranoid when he's treated like that. So I take it you'll be our guide out of the city?" Alexander explained his most recent 'lapses of memory' to Olvoro.

"Do you have the Eye of Zhakata?" Olvoro repeated his own previous question with a hungry look in his blue eyes.

The adventurer reached beneath the fabric of his shirt and pulled out the black jewel that he'd managed to steal from Zhakata's temple.

Olvoro began to reach out for it, only to promptly get his hand slapped away by Devi Skye.

"If you wanted it so bad, should have stolen it yourself." The elf stated bluntly.

"The Circle of Darkness has important plans for that stone!" Olvoro pleaded.

"Then I'm sure Bolsh, or whoever he takes orders from will be polite enough to explain what they are to me when the time comes. Since the Circle of Darkness is keeping me in the dark, I'm keeping hold of the Eye. Bad things happen when I hand over important magical artifacts over to people I don't really trust." Alexander insisted.

Olvoro did not look pleased with this news, not in the slightest. He also did not at all look ready to try and protest though.

"Very well then, lets get out of the city while we still have time." The Circle member insisted before heading off down the underground hallway.

Mirri clicked her tongue once and then offered the black haired man a playful smile.

"I'm much too tall and pretty and to be a dwarf, but I'm still pretty good at knowing my way around underground. Make sure you lead us on the most direct path out of the city. If you start leading us back towards the temple..." She let that particular comment hang in midair.

It was a very paranoid group of seven that struck out down what was hopefully the Circle of Darkness' secret path out of the city.

XXX XXX XXX

Luckily for everyone, said path actually went where it was supposed to.

Though Cal was a little surprised at the group's turn of good fortune Mirri wasn't.

Her vampiric hearing had allowed her to track Olvoro's heartbeat, and while he was (justifiably) scared of Alexander Diamondclaw, his heart wasn't quite beating fast enough for a man who was leading someone already expecting treachery (and preparing retribution for it) into an ambush.

After walking a fair distance underground the tunnel slopped upwards towards the ceiling. Eventually Olvoro was able to push aside some tiles allowing both light and a few handfuls of sand to enter the tunnel. He scrambled out and the others followed, finding themselves standing acceptably far outside the gates of Zhukar.

"Well that's one problem taken care of." Alexander admitted as he climbed out into the open air.

As actively as the followers of Zhakata were no doubt searching Zhukar at the moment, there didn't seem to be anyone patrolling around out here. After a few moments back in the sunlight it wasn't hard to figure out why either, the desert's heat promptly reasserted itself with a vengeance now that they were outside Zhukar's walls. Any group of soldiers in heavy armor marching around out here would either need magical protection or they'd surely be slain by the heat before any foe's blade had a chance.

"How do we find the transformed ones?" Devi wanted to know, since Alexander had insisted that linking up with those like Petchko would be their next major task now that they'd escaped the city.

"Don't even bother trying to find them. Those savages have lived out here far too long, just head away from the city, they'll find you first." Olvoro promised the six in a not at all reassuring manner.

Once the entire group had left the tunnel he quickly scuttled back into it and resealed its opening behind them.

The half a dozen adventures were thus left at the mercy of the desert's scorching heat and whipping winds.

"Florence, some magic would be welcome." Alexander admitted as he already could feel the first bead of sweat starting to form on his brow.

The dryad got to work doing what she could to mystically protect the group and then they headed out away from Zhukar. Even if they didn't end up meeting any of the transformed the more distance they could put between themselves and Yagno Petrovna the better.

XXX XXX XXX

It was late afternoon and the sun had just begun to fade when all of a sudden four shapes appeared before the group with a suddenness that took even experienced adventures by surprise.

Three of the figures were hooded and robed. The fourth though was more monster than man; he stood roughly seven feet tall with a ghastly face that was part lizard and part dog. His bare (aside for some patchy fur and a crudely stitched vest) chest was massively muscled his arms and legs were equally oversized.

"What do you here, where mongrelmen be?" The monstrous figure demanded. His speech was deformed and awkward thanks to a pair of large tusks which prevented him from being able to fully close his mouth.

"The Circle of Darkness sent us. We're here to help free Zhakata the Provider." Alexander answered.

Somewhat unsurprisingly while Madar had refused to give him any pass-phrases for dealing his own companions, he'd been all too willing to explain exactly what Alexander should say when introducing himself to the transformed.

"You have Eye?" The spokesman of the 'mongrelmen' growled at him wearily.

Once again Alexander reached under his shirt and produced the black jewel.

There must be something truly mystical about that jewel (though if it had any magical powers of its own it hadn't cared to show them to Alexander yet) since just like Olvoro, the mongrelmen seemed to recognize it on sight. Almost instantly a heated exchange broke out among the four, the mongrelmen speaking to one another in a bizarre mix of grunts, growls, and low hoots.

Then after seemingly browbeating the other three into agreement, the largest of the mongrelmen began to approach the group, a look of disdain on his face.

"Wahrg say you not so tough. Why we need you to free Lord Zhakata? You fight Wahrg, show your strength in combat!" The muscle bound blend of beast and man insisted.

Alexander Diamondclaw stepped forward, his single green eye gazing pointedly at "Wahrg", figuring that the mongrelman was most likely suffering some difficulty with proper use of pronouns rather than speaking on someone else's behalf.

"What kind of fight?" He asked calmly fingering Wolf Claw with his right hand.

Wahrg snorted dismissively as he curled his half hands half paws into fists.

"Small man throw away his sword, fight Wahrg with just his fists, like how Wahrg fight. Is fair. We fight until one say give up, or hit so hard can't say anything for a while." The mongrelman explained.

It seemed that he was more interested in s tribal honor duel than a genuine battle to the death.

"I can accept that, just give me a moment to get ready." The silver haired man reflected.

Alexander slowly and carefully unstrapped Wolf Claw and tossed it to Florence. He trusted her to look after his blade until he had genuine need for it.

Then with sudden swiftness he reached up and yanked at the black strap which held his eye-patch in place. The string was torn asunder by the force of his grip and Alexander dropped it to the dusty ground to look out at Wahrg with both of his eyes.

Alexander Diamondclaw's right eye was a sight that could shock the bravest of men. It was neither scarred nor utterly missing, it was whole and it was functional, it was just… wrong.

It was a strange golden yellow color gold color with a pupil that light seemed to reflect off of rather than enter, the sort of eye that had was never meant to be found in the skull of a human being. It was the sort of eye that you might find in the skull of a wolf.

Just like Wahrg had done, Alexander curled his hands into fists. Fists that began to grow larger.

His entire body began to grow larger, as what at first seemed to be silver hair, but then became more accurately describe as silver fur started to sprout across it.

His ears began to migrate upwards towards the top of his head much like where James' resided, though they were larger and mildly less pointed. His face began to elongate as his teeth grew sharper, larger, and more numerous. His black gloves seemed to simply fade into his skin so that there was room for what had once been ordinary fingernails to become wicked looking claws.

As his boots vanished, his feet grew wider and became huge paws as well, though his posture remained upright, his spine unbent.

In less than a minute Alexander Diamondclaw transformed from an ordinary man into a terrifying mix of man and wolf, with a coat of shining silver fur.

"So, when do we start this fight?" The wolf monster that had been Alexander Diamondclaw asked, with a voice that somehow unlike the rest of his body was completely unchanged.

Alexander was used to a variety of reactions to his power of transformation, though people running away in fear or cowering in horror were the two most common.

He'd never gotten this particular one before though…

Wahrg and his fellow mongrelmen threw themselves to the dusty ground, and began to sob. Not in terror, but in reverence.

"Zhakata… Zhakata…. Zhakata..." They repeated the words over and over again.

"No. No, no no! I'm not Zhakata!" Alexander insisted, suddenly feeling the sort of guilt over his power of transformation that hadn't struck him in a long time.

"What Zhakata take from… you find again?" Wahrg gasped in awe as he still refused to remove his head from the ground.

"He chase sandstorm, and catch it..." Another of the mongrelmen muttered softly.

"He pure and whole again." Another added.

"He worthy to go among men..." The last one declared solemnly.

None of the four was willing to so much as gaze upon Alexander's paws, let alone his face.

"Zhakata hasn't been able to take anything from me!" Alexander insisted.

In retrospect, Zhakata (or at least worship of him) had been able to take away any real hope Alexander had of finding a good drink in G'Henna, but he was keenly aware that saying such things aloud would be contraindicated at the moment. For that matter, Zhakata and his worshipers had also stolen a handful of hours that Alexander would have preferred to spend sleeping over the last few days.

"When Yagno lay hands on him… he must lay hands on Yagno!" Wahrg declared eagerly.

"Not let himself be molded, but mold self instead!" Another added.

"He who so pure, so human, essence could not be stolen." The third insisted.

"He who Zhakata refuse to curse, bless instead." The fourth agreed.

Alexander was getting a throbbing sensation in the back of his head. A throbbing sensation that he expected would be more troublesome than a great many more direct injuries he'd sustained in his past. Regeneration could knit flesh, mend bones, or speed up the body's production of blood, and all of it could even be relatively painless. There was one thing it most assuredly couldn't do though, and that was cure the common headache.

Surely there was a reason for it, a reason Alexander fully expected to understand, right after he awoke one morning to find that it was just past ten and his bed had been replaced with a pile of platinum coins.

"What I am has nothing to do with Zhakata! I don't worship Zhakata!" The wolf-man monster insisted bitterly.

"He don't worship Zhakata?" Wahrg whimpered in confusion.

"He… he don't worship the one who did this to us?" Suggested one of the cloaked followers.

"Is… is there another god so powerful?" Still another pondered.

"What god made you in such divine perfection?" The final member of the small group pleaded.

"I am not perfect! I am not the chosen of a god! I am not some righteous paladin! I am just a monster who doesn't hate ordinary people as much as he hates hates other monsters..." Alexander Diamondclaw insisted as he began to undo his transformation, silver fur retracting back into his skin, his body shrinking and clothing starting to reemerge.

XXX XXX XXX

"Especially myself…." The silver haired man finally spoke the words that had been on his mind if not his lips since the end of his encounter with Wahrg.

It had been easy to convince the mongrelmen to escort the adventures to the ramshackle gathering of tents that passed for a center of civilization among their outcast people.

Alexander Diamondclaw (who Wahrg and the other mongrelmen continued to revere to the point that he'd been grateful they hadn't insisted on carrying him so that his boots didn't get dusty) had been given one of the largest most spacious tents available (which among the mongrelmen was another way of saying it didn't have any obvious holes in it) close to the collection of bonfires they were using to gain some measure of warmth during the cold desert night.

"You're not a monster to me." Insisted Florence Bastion (who unsurprisingly was sharing Alexander's tent) before leaning herself against his firm chest and gently running her hands through his hair.

"Yes I am. I'm a monster to myself, I'm a monster to you, I'm a monster to them, I'm a monster to everyone. That's the one reason I'm still able to live with myself, I recognize my own monstrosity." Alexander insisted bitterly.

Despite his foul mood, Florence refused to pull away.

"Remember what I told you so many years ago… I've seen apple trees grow crooked, and death's head trees grow straight. It is only by the fruits of a tree that you can truly tell its nature. The fruit that you nurture are sweet and life giving." The dryad insisted.

"First Gavin, though he at least comes by it honestly, then Marda, now Wahrg and the mongrelmen, why does everyone expect me to be some splendid savior who solves all their problems?" He growled in irritation.

"Because you are more than an ordinary man Alexander Diamondclaw. You are also a wolf."

"The greatest wolf." Alexander growled, suddenly seeming actively irritated rather than morosely melancholy.

"The greatest wolf." Florence eagerly agreed, as she continued to caress his shining hair.

"I don't expect you to be a god, I don't expect you to work miracles. All I've ever expected from you was what I expected when we first met… for you to try and make the world a better place." She insisted.

"Those mongrelmen out there..." Alexander waved a hand at the small throng of transformed beings who he knew were eagerly positioning themselves as close to his tent as they dared go.

"Everything I said to them, no matter how hard I tried, it just made them want to believe in me more." He reflected, his mood turning dour again.

"Don't you want them to believe in you?" Florence pressed.

"Not as a god. Not as the champion of a god." The once more (James had provided him with a fresh one once he'd reverted his transformation) eye-patch wearing man insisted.

"What about as a wolf? Do you want them to know how you are the greatest wolf? These mongrelmen, they have nothing..." She began.

Before the dryad could go any further however Alexander cut her off.

"There's a difference between belief and respect you know. Alas, because of what they've been through, they'll probably believe in anything now, even a god who got them into this mess in the first place." He finished for her.

Florence, nodded, having come to the same conclusion as Alexander himself.

"Faith is a powerful, tangible thing Alex. When a man has no logical reason to expect anything but suffering and misery, he can still have faith in something greater. Some people put their faith in gods, others in childhood fairytales." She pointed out, her voice soft and gentle.

"Childhood fairytales reward faith far better than gods." Alexander sniffed dismissively.

"No mater what happens now Alex, they're going to believe in you. Can you blame them, when you have what they so desperately desire? When you have the power to transform between man and beast at will? Not for the power of being a beast, but simply the dignity of being a man. The comfort of knowing that others won't hate them on sight. You should be able to understand that, its why you wear this..." As the dryad spoke, her right hand finally left Alexander's hair and began to massage his eye-patch instead.

Alexander said nothing, his single visible eye simply stared out at the tent flap.

"They're going to believe in you, the only question is how and why? Do you want them to believe in you as some divine figure who turns a deaf ear to their cries while holding himself disdainfully above them? Or, do you want them to believe in you as the great Alpha Wolf, the Alpha Wolf who walks among them, who shares in his pack's suffering?" She asked the question that to Alexander Diamondclaw was really no question at all.

He stood up and headed for the tent flap, pulling it back and stepping out into the mongrelmen encampment.

Almost instantly he was the focus of who knew how many eyes, of who knew how many different types. There were human eyes, green slitted feline eyes, eyes not too unlike his own right eye, even strange lidded eyes that never seemed blink or even squint, those who had earned the displeasure of Zhakata had been remade in all shapes and sizes.

A woman whose arms were coated with feathers as if the limbs were halfway to being wings held them out towards him pleadingly.

"Please? Just a little, a few scraps of cloth is all I need..." She begged.

Alexander bit back a bitingly sardonic comment about how if she'd simply positioned herself closer to the fires rather than waiting for a miracle outside his tent she wouldn't need to ask for thicker garments.

As he looked at her more closely, and she continued to look pleadingly at him, as he saw how her arms had been clumsily wrapped in white linen though there was no sign of a wound, and he understood.

It wasn't about keeping the heat in or the cold out, she wanted cloth so that she could hide the more blatant aspects of her disfiguration. She wanted to be able to look at her reflection, and see a human being rather than a monster.

Alexander began to remove his black coat.

"What's your name?" He asked her tenderly.

"Acquilina, great lord." She answered in a piteous voice that wasn't quite fully human.

"Let me see what I can spare..." He insisted and slid Wolf Claw free from its sheath.

His clothing had been enchanted by Florence to survive his transformations and so he doubted he'd be able to simply tear it apart with his bare hands, but with a few quick cuts from his sword he easily managed to slice it a section of it free.

"For what crimes were you transformed?" He inquired while handing over what had once been a sleeve.

"My daughter… she was three years old… I hadn't even named her yet… but she was so hungry… even if it was a fast day..." The woman wept as she began to wind the cloth around her arms.

"Did she survive?" Alexander pressed, hoping he wouldn't regret the question.

"Yes… but, she, she was sent to one of the orphanages, the priests said I was unfit to call myself her mother." The woman sobbed.

Alexander leaned in close and she rested her head weakly upon his chest. She only finally ceased crying when her eyes were ringed with red, as if her grief had outlasted her body's supply of tears.

The silver haired man then slowly turned his attention to another of the mongrelmen, this one was male, and his body was awkwardly slumped.

At least that was what Alexander thought at first, then he realized the mongrelman's legs had fused together into a serpentine tail. Not that his upper torso had gone unchanged either, his back bent at a strange angle, and one of his hands ending in a hoof rather than a hand, and those (along with his 'tail') were only the obvious changes.

"Your name?" Alexander asked the horrifically transformed mongrelman.

"Salvatore." He answered in a low croaking voice that suggested he had some frog in him as well.

"What did you do to deserve such punishment?" He knew he'd regret hearing the answer, but couldn't bring himself to stay silent.

"An inquisitor, he wanted to have his way with my sister, so I bashed his head in with a rock." Salvatore answered.

"Even like this, would you still do it?" The eye-patch wearing man demanded to know.

"Someday Zhakata will forgive me. She never would though, not if I hadn't tried to help." The poor deformed man said with an awkwardly misshapen smile.

Alexander soon passed over the remains of his other slave to Salvatore.

"If there was any justice in the world, I'd look like you, and you'd look like me." He reflected with a heavy sigh before turning his attention to a third mongrelman.

XXX XXX XXX

"There isn't… there just isn't enough." The once again transformed Alexander Diamondclaw whimpered, sounding surprisingly pathetic for a wolfman monster.

He gazed out at a sea of pleading eyes, and wished that there had been more he could give them.

There wasn't though, first his black cloak, then his white undershirt, then his black pants, then what he wore beneath those as well. He was now forced to rely on his silver fur alone to protect him against the cold desert night, not to mention all the other inevitable problems of being naked.

He'd handed over every single scrap and stitch of cloth he'd been wearing to the mongrelmen. Much like Salvatore he didn't regret his actions, it was impossibly clear that they'd both needed and deserved the fabric more than he did.

So now he hunched awkwardly before the small crowd of mongrelmen, wondering what, if anything, he possibly had left to give them. There had simply been too many for each of them to get some piece of his garments, and there had been nothing he could do about that.

Still, while Zhakata might turn his eyes (or just his remaining eye if Madar was right) away from the suffering of those who worshiped him, Alexander Diamondclaw would not.

"Lord Diamondclaw, why are you so blessed?" Asked Acquilina.

The mongrelwoman had pulled away from Alexander after taking his left sleeve so that others could come close, but now that he had no garments left to donate she had crawled close to him again.

"I was lucky. I wasn't brave, wise, or stout hearted, if anything I was obstinate, ignorant, and foolish. I didn't deserve or earn the blessings I have been given, I was simply lucky." He insisted, turning away from her imploring gaze.

"Sometimes, luck is all it takes Lord Diamondclaw." Salvatore croaked.

"Yagno Petrovna did not set out to find Zhakata, Zhakata found him when he was 'lucky' enough to have been shut out of his home for a night." Insisted a mongrelman named Kiryl whose face was strangely sunken and owl like, especially given the feathers that grew around his ears.

"Yes, and look how wonderfully that has worked out for everyone! You out here in the desert, starving for lack of food while trying to scrape together even the barest sinews of a civilization, them out there in the cities, starving in reverence to Zhakata!

Blind luck is no solid foundation for gods to determine their champions! Yet they still do it anyway. How, how can beings of such great power be so foolish, so arrogant, and still consider themselves worthy of worship?" Alexander growled, projecting ire not at anyone in particular (not even Yagno Petrovna) but simply at the ill-conceived unjust nature of the world.

"Whatever god chose you Lord Diamondclaw, it was relying on more than luck. It saw the kindness and gallantry in your heart!" Acquilina insisted.

"No it wasn't and it didn't! I am not the righteous servant of some 'glorious' god here to pass judgment on wicked men! In fact, for this world to be truly just and fair, there needs to be someone who can call the gods to account for THEIR SINS! There must be a reckoning for the way that THEY have mistreated and betrayed US!" He snarled in a sudden flash of anger, his silver fur standing up straight in irritation.

Then his momentary flash of rage passed and his body began to slump slightly.

"I'm sorry, you shouldn't have been forced to hear that. What you need to understand is that I wasn't chosen by a god.

I was chosen by a wolf. Except that even to use the word 'chosen' is a lie. I had made such an utter and complete ruin of my life, that there was nothing left for me but the wolf. Likewise, for the wolf, there was no one for him but me. Neither of us had a choice in the matter.

We were just two beings, whose lives had been utterly destroyed, two beings who were utterly without hope. Both utterly doomed, unless we found some way to build each other up instead of tearing one another apart. So, now here I am, 'blessed' by the wolf. Also, before you even f**king ask, the wolf was not created, sent, inspired, or otherwise in any way shape or form related to Zhakata!" Alexander explained, finishing off with a heavy sigh.

"Even if it is not a god, tell us of this wolf." Insisted Salvatore.

Alexander's body seemed to move of its own accord yet again, but this time instead of feral rage, there was just shocked confusion. He sat up straight, his mismatched eyes awkwardly winking in turns, as if even the feat of simply getting them to move in synchronization was beyond his capabilities at the moment.

When that temporary paralysis passed, Alexander slowly turned to face the mongrelmen once more.

"If… if you sincerely wish to hear it… then I'll tell you the story. There once was a wolf, mightier than all others. Yet, for all his strength, he was neither cruel nor vicious, he was simply a wolf. He has no desire for the mindless worship or the elaborate fripperies with which gods surround themselves. The only thing he wanted was what should have been justly due him, respect for his power and prowess. He never got it. He never EVER got it." Alexander's tale began.

It might have gone on longer were it not for the way that his lupine nostrils twitched of their own accord. In this shape Alexander Diamondclaw's sense of smell was far keener than that of any ordinary human, and for some bizarre reason they had just detected the stench of decaying flesh.

The ground around him suddenly parted and gray skinned humans began to struggle forth from beneath the desert's dust. Somehow even though they remained largely human, their sunken yellow eyes and wicked looking teeth managed to make them look far more monstrous than any of the mongrelmen which surrounded them.

"Oh, you undead bastards, you just had to interrupt my story!" Alexander Diamondclaw growled in frustration.

There were five of them, but one of never managed to completely work its way free from the ground. The moment its head popped into sight, a huge silver paw descended down upon it, smashing the skull into an ugly mess of bone splinters and viscera.

The small crowd of mongrelmen surrounding Alexander (or at least those of them who had still been awake enough to realize what was happening) began to panic. The difficulty of rousing a large crowd to proper flight without people getting in each others way was compounded by the fact that each mongrelman individually needed time to properly commit its own body to the process.

Their instinctual gut reactions were often all too human, and human methods of fleeing would often do little good, for example Salvatore needed time to remember that he had to try and slither rather than run. If the undead could get among them it would be a massacre.

But that was a big "if" at the moment.

Because to get among the mongrelmen they'd have to get passed Alexander Diamondclaw. Alexander Diamondclaw's whose body was no misshapen mixture of more than a handful of different animals thrown together at random, it was a near perfect synthesis of man and wolf.

One of the undead monster reached out with its decrepit claw-like hands, eager to tear Acquilina apart as the mongrelwoman was trying to remember how to stand with her duck like feet.

Those clawed hands were swiftly seized by a much larger pair of silver clawed limbs.

"Me first. Hurt, me, first!" Alexander insisted, before his muscles tensed and he tore the undead's creature's arms from their sockets.

Then he proceeded to use them as primitive clubs to bash the beast's head in. That done, he tossed them aside, but with enough force that they sent another of the beasts sprawling to the dirt it had so recently climbed free of.

It fell at the feet of Kiryl who it had been menacing only a moment ago. The mongrelman's eyes darted between the temporarily defenseless ghoul and Wolfclaw, which Alexander had discarded along with his cloak.

He seized the sword and didn't even bother to free the blade from its sheath, instead he using the weapon (scabbard and all) to bash wildly away at the undead creature.

Alexander danced back and forth before the two remaining monsters, the black talisman around his throat sparkling as the firelight. The beasts seemed all to eager to follow up on his request, and closed in upon him.

He struck before they got a chance to seriously hurt him though, seizing each by the shoulder and slamming them into each other. Then he fell upon them, his claws ferociously rending their innards apart, ripping and tearing at their already decaying carcasses, until even whatever dark magic had animated them in the first place could no longer grant them mobility.

Then he rose back up, and his silver furred ears twitched, he could hear screaming. These five hadn't been the only ones, they hadn't been close to the only ones…

XXX XXX XXX

"I..." BLAM!

"WAS..." BLAM!

"GONNA..." BLAM!

"GET..." BLAM!

Callan Wright was in even less of a good mood than normal.

He'd been given a tent to share with Devi (granted not one as close to the fires as Alexander, but he'd take what he could get) and then this had happened.

Luckily, his number one priority inside the camp had been finding out what passed for food among the mongrelmen (and then deciding if he really was just _that_ hungry after all) him and so hadn't been able to put the tent to its proper use yet. Which in turn meant that he (unlike Alexander Diamondclaw) had still been fully clothed when the attack started. Out in the wastes of G'Henna 'fully clothed' meant that Cal had been wearing a large heavy belt that held no less than six loaded pistols.

Alas he'd used most of his best combat potions back in the Zhakata's temple, but while undead monstrosities tended to be more resilient than living foes, a big enough bullet moving at a fast enough speed could still have quite the impact upon them.

The problem was that he'd needed two of bullets each to dispatch the pair of monsters that he'd just finished off. That meant he only had two shots left, and there were half a dozen more of the monsters still on their feet. Devi had managed to tangle one of those six with her flail and was trying to snap its neck or rip its head clean off, but it hadn't given up the ghost just yet. As if that wasn't bad enough one of the monsters was bigger and faster than the others.

The Lamordian alchemist dropped his currently empty pistol and reached for another fresh one. He brought it up, sighted it in on the largest monster and fired.

BLAM!

The thing was deceptively fast though, even as Cal had started to draw a bead on the beast, it had started to move. Cal's bullet ended up "missing" to the extent that instead of a head shot, the round only slammed into one of the smaller undead's right shoulder.

"Nice… try..." The large monster hissed at Cal through its razor sharp teeth.

The intelligence necessary to speak was not a good sign in a foe. Mindless undead could be dangerous themselves, those that could still think though were far worse, he'd seen plenty of proof of that.

The wounded monster fell behind, but the others pressed on and Cal reached for his last gun. Four monsters in front of him, and only one bullet.

It'd be nice to imagine that he could be enough of a hero to somehow make that particular equation balance out. If he'd had nothing but a month to think about it, maybe he could. Maybe if he could convince all the monsters to stay perfectly still he could eventually (after several hundred failed attempts first) figure out the one single trajectory that would cause a bullet to ricochet from one monster's head to another, to another to another, to finally strike the last one, and on top of that still retain enough momentum to be lethal even to undead monsters.

Maybe there was some equation that would make it all work out in the end, but even Callan Wright wasn't smart enough to figure it out in only a few seconds.

So he made up his mind, chose his target and fired.

The large undead beast was fast, but not quite fast enough to avoid a perfectly aimed shot from one of Cal's pistol's that had been more or less centered on the monster's belly button.

Instead, he managed to shift himself enough that the round tore through the side of his naturally gaunt stomach and out his back.

The wound didn't bleed in the slightest, and the monster didn't even bother to inspect the gaping hole that had been blown in its body.

"Pathetic." The creature hissed as it continued its advance on Cal.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing." Cal replied and with his very smuggest smile.

The alchemist then simply crossed his arms, taking neither a single step back or making any effort to reload his weapons.

That confused the monster, but not for very long.

The source of Cal's sudden confidence became blindingly clear when the monster was walloped in the back by one of its own minions.

Moonlight reflecting brightly off of his silver fur, Alexander Diamondclaw had worked his way over to this section of the mongrelmen camp. He grabbed the undead monster whose shoulder Cal had wounded, and promptly set about wielding it as an impromptu club.

WHAM!

WHAM!

WHAM!

Alexander laid into the horrific creatures with a vengeance, hammering both the one he had seized and its companions into pulped fleshy masses that wold have made a quite revolting sight, if the sheer fact that they had ceased to move didn't bring an even more powerful sense of relief and joy to Cal's heart.

By the time he'd finished dealing with all those minions, the one he'd turned into an impromptu bludgeon of was too broken to be of any further use or threat. As he was doing so, the only undead monster that had talked rolled across the dusty ground and locked its arms tightly around one of Alexander's powerful legs.

"All that lives is frozen before my grasp!" It hissed out with maniacal glee, slowly rising to its feet.

Its clawed hands began to grope for the talisman worn Alexander wore around his neck.

Before Alexander got a proper chance to disprove that particular theory, someone else arrived to the fight.

A shadowy streak of black, white, and red arrived, then grabbed hold of the monster's arms.

"Not all that is dead serves you." Declared the voice of Mirri Catwarrior.

Her outfit was considerably more unruffled than normal, and blood was dripping from her lips.

Her pale arms squeezed with strength beyond that of any normal human woman, and the sound of bones starting to creak, pop, and shattered filled the air.

"One moment I'm just getting started on a nice relaxing evening with my favorite suck buddy, the next you show up. Not only did I have to stop feeding, but I can tell just by looking that even if you still had blood it would taste horrible." The vampire reflected before headbutting the gray skinned monster and driving him to his knees.

"So, I guess its a good thing that I can enjoy something as simple as killing for killings sake..." Mirri Catwarrior reflected, before she kicked the monster's head with enough force to cave in its skull and squish whatever remained of its brain.

The gray skinned creature dropped to the ground now utterly unundead.

"Fun, but not as much fun as I was going to have." She decided.

Seeing that there were no more foes to slay, she sauntered off with an almost offensively casual air, taking the time to slowly lap up the few drops of blood that still stained her lips.

There was no more screaming, and Alexander Diamondback managed the closest thing to a smile his largely lupine face was capable of at the moment.

"That's at least one problem dealt with." He admitted, gently placing a huge silver paw on top of the black talisman that hung around his throat.

"That last one though, I think he wanted this thing, even more than he wanted to kill me." The wolfman monster pondered.

Cal was by his point more or less used to the various shapes that Alexander Diamondclaw could take. Granted, everything logical, rational, scientific, Lamordian principles had taught him said that such things were impossible (conservation of mass and energy alike could only throw up their theoretical hands in surrender at the prospect of a six foot tall man turning into a seven foot tall wolf monster, especially given that he gained what had to be well over a hundred pounds of muscle in the process. At least when he went from purely man to purely wolf the numbers more or less equaled out) but Cal had long ago decided that empiricism won out over raw theory any day of the week.

So, given the numerous "impossibilities" that went into the transformation in the first place, what was heaping one more atop the pile by having him able to talk in a perfectly human voice through a decidedly inhuman muzzle? It was kind of reassuring in a way (or so he told himself) since he'd never seen Alexander loose control of himself because of his transformative powers. Thus, said powers were a net positive to Cal's chances of staying alive.

Sadly, even though Cal could trace his family history back to the time when Old Man Mordenheim had been as young as he somehow still looked (that was another case where "logical rational science" wasn't of much use) and it was in theory Lamordian as could be…. Somewhere along the lines one of his ancestors must have been have had an affair.

It was the only explanation for why Callan Wright's mind still had a primitive, emotional, Verbreker aspect (and it could be a shockingly large aspect when it wanted to) which insisted quite loudly and frequently that creatures which looked like a deadly mix of man and wolf were not for making friends, and especially not for swearing loyalty to.

They were for running away from.

Running as far and a fastly away from as possible!

Running with the wild horrific 'hope' that while you might never be able to outpace the beast, you could at least dream that you would outpace your soon to be deceased friends who would utterly fill the monster's belly.

"Better you than me?" Cal eventually suggested awkwardly.

"Correct." The huge wolfman monster that had just saved his life and was really Alexander Diamondclaw all too readily agreed.

"Boss, now that there's no monsters left to kill, you think you might want to change back?" Cal suggested, hoping that such a transformation would help steady his nerves, or at the very least make it so he didn't have to tilt his neck up to quite so much while having this conversation.

"I wasn't wearing clothing when I transformed." Alexander admitted looking as abashed as he could at the moment.

Callan Wright hung his head in irritation, everyone in the world was clearly having a better night than him right now!

Okay maybe not those mongrelmen who had just been killed…. The point was that better nights were clearly being had!

End Chapter.

AN: I finished writing this chapter roughly a week and a half ago. I really should have been able to get it proofread and posted sooner but stuff (including Battle For Middle Earth and a cold) happened.

Well at least now that it is here I can stop using the fact that I'm "a chapter ahead" so to speak to procrastinate writing chapter eleven!

Anyway, not since Brian Cohen has someone struggled to deny the prospect of their own divinity as thoroughly Alexander Diamondclaw.

As I mentioned way back in the first book, people will interpenetrate whatever they see through the context that they find most familiar/likely. If you see something that is a mix of man and animal in Verbrek you probably assume it is a lycanthrope, if you see the same thing in Markovia you think it is a broken one, see it in G'Henna and you assume it must be some form of mongrelman. It is just that most of the mongrelmen are such an awkward mish mash of man and beast that it is more of a disability than a source of superpowers.

So when the mongrelmen see Alexander who not only can transform into a tall powerfully built bipedal beast… well you might recall that "powerfully built bipedal beast" is exactly how Zhakata tends to be depicted even if exactly what kind of beast he is (assuming he doesn't resemble several different kinds at once) changes from one icon to another.

So, just like Petchko back in chapter four, don't think too poorly of the mongrelmen just because their first assumption is that Alexander must some form of blessed/champion/paladin/avatar of Zhakata.

Technically even the weaker ghouls should be intelligent enough to speak also and not just the ghast that leads them, but hey this way was more dramatic/fun.

Also yes Alex probably could have shaken off the ghast's paralyzing touch, he's made much harder fortitude saves already, but since he could see Mirri coming and knows how she gets if she can't kill someone every so often, he decided to give her the pleasure.

Finally you may be wondering "Wow, Alex was never this harsh with Wyan or any of the other people in Tepest who believed in their pantheon, what is going on?" or something roughly equivalent. Well there's a fairly simple answer. While the people of Tepest have faith in Belenus and the other gods of his Pantheon, the way they act is based around the solid very real (and appropriate) fear of evil fey and other monsters living in the woods.

Despite it being called an inquisition, religion isn't really the root cause of people's paranoia, fear, and occasionally hatred in Tepest. The religion that they teach is just a framework that is hung over their understanding of how the world works. People in Tepest aren't doing horrible things because they believe some god(s) told them to the way that they're starving themselves in G'Henna to try and earn Zhakata's favor, and people doing things simply because gods told them to is as you can guess a very big sore spot for Alex.

Why? Well you'll get to find out before this story is over (which at the rate I'm going will probably be around Christmas) I promise.


	11. Chapter 11

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Eleven: Looking at all we've lost, all the pain that living hard can bring...

"Zhakata..." The single hissed word woke Alexander Diamondclaw from his sleep.

Both of his eyes shot wide open, and he stared up at the ceiling of his tent, certain that something was wrong with it, but not quite sure what.

A moment later a high pitched giggle come from somewhere (it was hard for even him to figure out its exact source) inside the tent.

That was shouldn't have been possible given that he and Florence were the tent's only occupants.

As the silver haired man tried to figure out if he was dealing with some very strange sort of quasi-dream, (and where he'd heard that voice before) all of a sudden the tent collapsed.

"Zhakata!" The voice hissed again.

Now that he heard it while fully awake (or at least not the next best thing to fully asleep) he was finally able to at least recognize where he had previously heard that particular voice.

It was the same voice that the living statue had used.

"Florence, I don't think that thing in the temple was just a golem..." Alexander growled as he began to struggle against the cloth covering.

"It must be a…." The dryad began, but before she could complete her sentence the tent's sides flew upwards, and the ropes that had bound it to ground broke free before shooting out to wrap around her neck.

The sight of Florence Bastien being strangled by those ropes moved the living tent from bizarre occurrence to an actual enemy.

That was not a wise choice on its part.

Especially given that Alexander Diamondclaw hadn't seen fit to bother Devi for her spare copy of his outfit, or James for yet another eye-patch.

A silver furred paw thrust upwards, its claws easily tearing through the cloth as Alexander forced himself upright.

The tent's ropes twisted and tensed, but they had no leverage from which to preform a fatal yank needing to rely on slower suffocation instead.

"Slower" was not a descriptor that could be applied to anything that successfully menaced Alexander Diamondclaw's pack, and that went double for Florence.

The ropes themselves were too thin and intricate for Alexander's furry paws to untangle and trying to slice them with his claws would probably result in him accidentally tearing out the dryad's throat.

So instead Alexander attacked the edges of the tent.

With every strike still more cloth fell away like the soft fabric it was.

With a few quick blows Alexander cut away the edges of the tent, the edges that the ropes were tied to.

Just as he had expected, the moment that the ropes were no longer physically connected to the tent they went limp.

Florence began to cough and splutter before starting to slowly untangle the ropes.

The tent itself still tried to smother the pair, but Alexander Diamondclaw was having none of it. He kicked out with his powerful legs and knocked the tent (which had been kind enough to sever its ties to the ground in the first place) up into the air.

Being made of cloth, the tent took its sweet time about drifting back down to the ground, which meant that when it finally did, Alexander had stood up and was waiting for it.

"Zhakata..." The tent hissed at him in anger.

The silver furred wolfman had quite decisively reached the amount of "up" with which he was willing to put.

He grabbed hold of the tent and stoically marched over to one of the largest bonfires in the mongrelmen camp.

"You ruined a perfectly good night's sleep! Do you know how hard it is to get a good night's sleep in G'Henna?" Alexander snarled before he held the animated tent out over a bonfire.

It didn't take long for the flames to catch and start to spread.

"Zhakata…." The tent hissed back defiantly even as more and more of it was scorched black or flaked away as ash.

"Yes, I'm sure you're going to see him soon!" The silver furred wolfman chortled.

Once the fires had consumed about three quarters of it, Alexander dropped the rest into the bonfire where it could only flop about pathetically as the flames finished their work.

That done, he stomped off and returned to Florence.

He didn't say a single word, just grabbed her (gently), lifted her up on top of him, wrapped his large silver furred arms around her back, and held her close to his chest.

"You warm?" He asked softly.

"That thing that tried to attack us I think it was..." The dryad began.

"Is it likely to try and kill us again tonight if we aren't sleeping in a tent?" He cut her off.

"No." She admitted.

"You warm?" He repeated his previous question.

"Yes." Florence admitted, realizing that Alexander was in full "Alpha Male" mindset at the moment.

"Great. You can tell me all about what was in the morning." Alexander promised, then tenderly ran a long lupine tongue along her cheek before starting to shift his head back and forth, trying to find the best position to get some sleep.

XXX XXX XXX

"No…. No…. No… not out here also!" Rumbled Alexander Diamondclaw as he was awoken from his slumber far too early for a second time.

Granted, at least the sun had actually risen this time around, but some small part of him had hoped that tonight things would finally be different.

They were, just not in an enjoyable way. While Alexander had escaped from Zhukar and its damnable bells, he hadn't been able to escape from the followers of Zhakata.

At what he suspected was the exact same moment as the bells started ringing in Zhukar, the mongrelmen had begun to recite prayers to Zhakata. They weren't all saying the exact same thing, but their voices blended together into an incessant chant that was impossible to ignore, especially given that Alexander had ended up sleeping out in the open.

"Well now that you're up, you should probably know it was an animator." Florence insisted as she propped an elbow against his furry chin.

"That's great, what is an animator?" The silver furred wolfman shot back.

His tone was mildly less affronted now though, because at least the Florence was telling him something interesting and most likely important unlike those praying to Zhakata.

"An animator is a restless spirit. It merges itself with mundane objects and brings them to life for whatever purpose it desires. Said purpose nine times out of ten is murder. They don't normally talk though…." The dryad explained, slightly baffled by this animator's habit of spouting 'Zhakata' every chance it got.

"How do we kill it? Since I don't think you'd insist on us having this conversation if I'd permanently gotten rid of it last night." Alexander wanted to know.

"You don't. Someone makes them angry, they try to kill them, eventually they either succeed or they get bored." The dryad warned him.

Alexander sighed, shoot his head, then snorted in defiance.

"More dangerous things than it have tried. It can only animate ordinary objects? So it can't try and turn Wolfclaw against me?" He pressed, taking a moment to run his furry paw along his sword's sheath.

"No, it can't posses enchanted items, and honestly Wolfclaw may be a little too small for it anyway. It'll want to posses things roughly the size of, well that statue back in the temple or a tent." She informed him.

Alexander gave a solemn nod, then pushed himself off against the ground and slowly got up.

"Gotcha, well if I see a building rip itself free from its foundation and try to crush me, I'll know why." The wolfman pondered, before pondering the far more important (from his point of view) question of what to eat for breakfast.

XXX XXX XXX

"Boss what happened to your shirt?" Callan Wright couldn't help but ask.

"I gave it away." Alexander Diamondclaw answered.

"Yeah I got that, I assume the same about your coat obviously. Why didn't you just get your backup outfit from Devi also though?" The alchemist clarified.

"These are my backup pants. I gave away my backup cloak and shirt." Alexander countered.

Callan Wright decided that this was a not subject that he really cared to investigate further.

Especially given that for some reason even the normally placid as a kitten James Firecat was also giving him the closest thing the young werecat could achieve to a stink eye.

James didn't have the right temperament for it and so it came off as more of an awkward squint, but Cal could feel that the intent was there.

So he decided to stop asking question and make do with simple observations for a while. Simple observations like that while most of the mongrelmen's clothing was some variant of brown, there was now some noticeable scraps of black, white, green, and red cloth mixed in.

"Thank you, for helping save tribe." Rumbled Wahrg as he made his way over to the adventurers.

Alexander offered the transformed follower of Zhakata and awkward smile. Without his coat and shirt, he had no choice but to wear the Eye of Zhakata openly about his neck, and Wahrg's eyes were instantly drawn to it.

"I killed two. They say you killed many more. Also rip outfit to shreds for us." Wahrg added with considerable approval in his eyes.

"What can I say, killing is something I'm good, I'm awesome at." Alexander admitted with a "relaxed" smile that he actually had to work very hard at.

The silver haired man privately wished he hadn't needed Florence's to give him a metaphorical boot to the backside before he'd been willing to (metaphorically) pull his head out of his ass and view the mongrelmen as desperate people rather than religious zealots.

He didn't want to receive credit or praise for an act of charity motivated first by guilt rather than compassion. His prowess in battle on the other hand, that Alexander was more than willing to accept praise for.

Before the conversation could continue any further, a loud piercing howl broke out.

"Really? Out here? Well I guess I've got no reason to be surprised." The silver haired man admitted to himself.

Then he placed a quick hand on Wahrg's shoulder and for one of the few times in his life needed to actually go up on tip toe in order to help get his lips closer to someone's ear.

"I need to go and deal with that." He whispered softly before marching off in the direction of the howl.

Thankfully no one tried to stop him.

XXX XXX XXX

On the outskirts of the mongrelmen camp, Alexander located the source of the howls. He found more or less exactly what he expected, an oversized and underfed wolfpack being lead by a black furred wolf with a white blaze across his chest.

"Hello again Gavin." Alexander greeted the familiar wolf.

The alpha wolf yipped eagerly at the sight of someone who was an alpha even to him.

"No, I don't have a lot more food to give you right now. Yes, I'll make sure to get some for you one way or another. Still, you and your pack have to behave yourselves. My pack is currently meeting peacefully with another pack right now, and I don't like it when packs who are friendly to me fight each other. Understand?" Alexander explained to Gavin.

He hadn't gone through the trouble of protecting the mongrelmen from the undead last night just to have them get attacked by wolves (especially not 'his' wolves) today. Normally Alexander would have been all but utterly certain that even without direct instruction Gavin and the others would behave themselves, but given how the mongrelmen were a riot of different scents, he didn't want one who smelled a little bit too much of the wrong herbivores to end up getting hurt.

"How do you do that?" A hesitant voice called out to Alexander from behind.

Turning around, the silver haired man saw that it was none other than Petchko. The transformed priest still had an air of melancholy about him, but now that he was surrounded by his fellow mongrelmen he didn't seem quite so skittish.

"Hello again Petchko." Alexander greeted him with an a somewhat awkward wave.

"How do you do that?" Petchko asked again.

The silver haired man sighed and turned back around to Gavin who had chosen to sit on his haunches and watch this discussion with considerable interest. He and his pack must have had at least some luck hunting last night, otherwise he would have been pressing Alexander harder for a meal.

"I talk, and they listen. I offer him something that he wants, do my utmost to live up to that promise, I get loyalty for it. There's nothing especially amazing about it." Alexander insisted.

Petchko walked forward until he stood side by side with Alexander's and shook his head.

"No. No it isn't. There's something in your eyes… well your eye…?" He began rather awkwardly.

Alexander Diamondclaw sighed heavily, he'd just gotten this new eye-patch from James (he'd met the werecat on his way towards Gavin), and now he reached a hand over to it, flipped it up for a few moments, then let it slide back down over his right eye.

"You can say eyes, I showed it off to enough people last night." He admitted.

Petchko bobbed his head awkwardly in agreement, then continued as best he could.

"There's something in your eyes. The only time that I can remember seeing something like it is when Yagno Petrovna was preaching." The transformed priest explained.

Alexander's single visible eye widened quite noticeably.

"Petchko, we're not in Zhukar anymore. That means I can afford to be more open and honest with those around me. Right now, I'm honestly considering wringing your neck." Alexander snarled, not enjoying the direction that this conversation had taken.

"I am simply speaking the truth." Petchko unwisely insisted.

Alexander's left hand rose up and began to twitch and spasm. Its fingers curled inward as if it was indeed crushing someone's neck.

Then simply doing it to empty air wasn't enough. Alexander refused to allow himself to harm Petchko, and so instead wrapped the hand around his own throat.

Alexander Diamondclaw began to squeeze and compress his neck for a few moments until he managed to alleviate most of his homicidal rage.

Then he slowly let go of his throat turned and shifted to fully face Petchko.

Alexander's right hand lifted the eye-patch from his head, and let its string dangle from his fingers while fixing Petchko with a withering gaze from his mismatched eyes.

"What has Yagno Petrovna sacrificed?" Alexander demanded.

"Yagno Petrovna sits in his temple, and convinces an entire city to starve themselves in the service of his god! I saw his face, he emptied himself out and let Zhakata pour in to serve as replacement.

Gods and their priests, using their mystical powers to make up whatever rules they want for the rest of us to live by! Gods in their halls, priests in their temples, making up rules because they are, because they think they are, powerful enough that they'll never truly be challenged! Meanwhile, I'm out here…. I'm always out here! I'm always…. I'm always..." As Alexander spoke silver fur began to sprout across his bare chest, his voice began to fade into a choked whimper, and tears began to leak from his right eye.

He seemed to practically collapse against the Vistana turned priest, turned mongrelman, as any attempt at properly articulated speech was drowned out by something between a sob and a howl.

"Yagno..." Petchko began a rebuttal but Alexander gently placed a single finger to the mongrelman's lips silencing him.

The taller man's body was temporarily wracked with convulsions alongside a few weak moans before he finally regained some measure of control.

That done, he stood back up straight, gave his eye-patch a very long strange look, and finally slid it gently back over his right eye.

"That… that could have gone better. I wasn't being especially persuasive there was I?" Alexander sighed heavily.

"No." Petchko awkwardly agreed.

It didn't seem like a good idea to just flat out say that Alexander had been ranting and raving like a madman, especially given that Gavin and his pack were still quite nearby, and probably quite hungry.

"When I was attacked in Zhukar, I was saved by a powerful beast that looked like a blend of man and wolf with silver fur. They said that when Wahrg challenged you, you turned into exactly the same kind of creature. When I first woke up after passing out in the alley, you were already there. Was that..." Petchko had clearly been mentally connecting some dots this morning, inching his way along towards a tenuous conclusion.

Alexander slowly nodded, and gently wrapped his arms around Petchko's shoulders.

"Thank you. Thank you for that realization. Not so much for giving me credit, though given how I'm feeling right now, getting some credit for my deeds is very much appreciated. What I really appreciate is that you're thinking." The silver haired man thanked his companion.

Petchko said nothing, he simply stood there in a painful silence.

Alexander slowly looked at Petchko. He recalled something that Florence had told him once when dealing with a slightly limping doe. She hadn't been able to treat the animal with magic, a least not at first. It had been injured when it was younger and survived, but the bones hadn't set properly which was why it still limped. At least until she had snapped the animal's leg, and then used her magic to help it through the process of healing all over again. When she'd been done, there had been no trace of a limp.

Sometimes you have to break something to give it a chance to heal properly.

Alexander hoped that particular statement had the kind of far reaching implications which accompanied most of the dryad's lessons for him.

Looking at Petchko right now, Alexander knew that he'd have to break his mind to give it any chance of healing properly. He deserved that much, even if Alexander was never able to do anything about his body.

"Your father wasn't from G'Henna, correct? You're a full blooded Vistani?" Alexander inquired tenderly.

Petchko slowly nodded, not sure where Alexander was going at the moment.

"I've had a fair number of encounters with Vistani in the past, though they tend to keep to themselves. From what I've seen, they worship, or at least offer reverence to their ancestors through the Vista-Chiri, but have no gods that I have ever been privileged enough to learn of. You're the first Vistana I've met who has shown explicit reverence to a single particular god, let alone become a priest of that god." The silver haired man further elaborated.

"Yes?" Petchko awkwardly agreed, still unsure of what point Alexander Diamondclaw was trying to convey.

"Being High Priest of Zhakata, Yagno Petrovna has a great deal of magical power. Just consider the way that he was able to transform you, to transform all the mongrelmen in G'Henna. With that in mind, you mention how your dedication to Zhakata began when you first heard Yagno Petrovna preaching. Would you consider it impossible for Yagno Petrovna to use magic to enchant people who listen to him preach, make them follow him due to that magic rather than any true loyalty?" Alexander finally suggested.

Instantly Petchko's entire body went stiff as his animalistic ears stood up straight.

"That's insane, Yagno Petrovna is the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I've ever known in my life." He insisted immediately.

"Have you asked your fellow mongrelmen what the crimes they've committed that ended up getting them transformed? Do you really believe what you just told me Petchko?" Alexander pressed.

"No… no…. I don't. Except that I said it anyway… without even taking a moment to think about it…." The young Vistana gasped in amazement.

Alexander gave him a pained smile, as if he knew that now was not the time to be displaying joviality, and yet couldn't help but take pride in his verbal victory.

"Let me know when you're ready?" He offered, awkwardly holding out his hands.

Sure enough, a few moments later Petchko collapsed into his waiting arms and began to sob.

XXX XXX XXX

Alexander and Petchko sat on the outskirts of the mongrelmen encampment surrounded protectively by Gavin and his pack.

"I've been, I was a priest of Zhakata for five years. What… what have I been doing?" Petchko eventually gasped when he was able to finally to speak rather than sob.

"It wasn't your fault." Alexander reassured him.

"I've lost… I've lost everything..." Petchko whimpered pathetically.

Alexander really didn't want to give the next bit advice he was about to offer up. He didn't want to say it, and knew that he'd probably have to punch himself in the face before he'd be able to sleep soundly again after saying it, but he had to say it all the same.

"Don't stop believing in Zhakata just because you don't believe in Yagno Petrovna." The silver haired man winced even as the words left his lips.

He would have liked to tell Petchko that they were in no position to judge what Zhakata's true nature was like. He would have liked to, but saying those words would have caused Alexander to vomit on general principle alone, not even taking into account what he had seen in G'Henna.

As far as Alexander could tell Zhakata wasn't any nicer of a god than Yagno Petrovna was a person. Besides, to even make that argument was to implicitly admit that there was such a thing as a "nice" god.

Instead, Alexander slowly began to finger his new necklace.

"This "eye" that I took from the temple, its important to Zhakata. Losing an eye is the kind of thing that can make even a god into a different person. Even if Zhakata the Devourer is content to sit back and watch all of G'Henna suffer, that doesn't mean its your fault or that you've misspent years of your life. We're going to go find Zhakata the Provider. Together." Alexander insisted.

Petchko slowly began to wipe a few tears from his eyes and looked up at Alexander's unusually warm face.

"Together?" He repeated cautiously.

"Together." Alexander repeated as he took Petchko's hands in his own.

"Thanks you… It, it means a lot to me." Petchko sighed.

"Faith is important. I don't believe in gods, but I do still believe in the power of belief, and I'm not even talking about clerical magic." Alexander admitted.

"What else do you believe in?" Petchko couldn't help but ask.

"Fairy tales, chiefly Logan the Grim, also a wolf." Alexander answered after only a moment's hesitation.

"Logan the Grim?" The mongrelman repeated the name in confusion, never having heard it before.

Alexander slowly let go of Petchko's hands (trusting that physical contact was no longer necessary) and nodded with a strange smile on his face.

"Logan the Grim was a great knight. He slew monsters, protected the weak, defended the just, refused to turn his eyes from or stay his hand against injustice, no matter who committed it.

He has many tales, but I draw strength from one of them in particular.

An evil spirit possessed a farmer's bull, and caused it to transform into a rampaging monster that stood taller than any man, with muscles thicker than a normal man's chest, wielding an axe that could cleave through ancient trees with a single strike.

Logan's battle with the beast was long and perilous, but he was triumphant and eventually he plunged his sword deep into the monster's skull. Even in death the beast managed some measure of revenge, for its blood was so toxic and its body so strong that the strike warped Logan's blade, leaving him victorious but now also defenseless.

So, to avoid being easy prey to the many other dangers of the land, her armed himself beast's axe… which was exactly what the evil spirit had wanted him to.

The spirit was greatly weakened by its defeat, but not destroyed, not even close to destroyed. Too weak to directly control even an animal at the moment, it poured itself into the axe, intending to gather strength there while also slowly working its subtle corruptions upon Logan. Then one day, when it was strong again, it would take him over, mind, body, and soul.

The spirit was cunning and deceptive, but also haughty and overly contemptuous. Even though he had slain its previous host in a tremendous battle, the spirit did not respect Logan. That was a mistake.

When it began to weave its lies and deceit into Logan's mind, Logan wove back with the power of his determination and courage. He will was so great that it crushed the spirit's… spirit. He broke its mind, reducing it to a shadow of its former self.

Before it would ever get a chance for a third battle, Logan had the axe enchanted by holy priests to drain the spirit's powers directly into the axe. This made the weapon yet more deadly and powerful, which was only a minor side benefit next to its true purpose, making the spirit utterly unable to leave the axe.

He had transformed what the spirit intended to be a safe refuge into its eternal prison. He then as you can imagine went on to fight many other great battles and slay many other foes with his new axe. The moral of the story is that, evil claims the unwary or the incomplete. A true man may flinch away from its embrace, if he is stalwart, and he girds his soul with the armor of contempt." Alexander concluded.

A furry tail promptly thumped on the ground and a low lupine voice whined pathetically.

"Yes Gavin, I know I've been spending an especially long time enjoying the sound of my own voice. Now that I'm finally finished, lets see if we can't get you and your packmates fed." The silver haired man declared to the alpha wolf with a slight chuckle.

Thirteen tails began to wag eagerly.

XXX XXX XXX

Alongside Petchko and escorted by his oversized wolfpack Alexander moved back in among the mongrelmen camp.

The wolves drew a fair bit of attention (though thankfully they managed to keep their appetites in check) but surprisingly not quite as much as the other new group of arrivals.

A small crowd of mongrelmen had gathered on hands and knees before a collection of men in red robes. One of them was currently giving something between a sermon and a lecture on his own self importance.

"It is I, Bolsh the Blessed, who have finally arrived to grant you poor unfortunate sinners some small measure of Zhakata's forgiveness! Through your service to me you will finally be given a chance to find redemption for your sins!" Insisted Bolsh who unlike his companions (and most other occupants of G'Henna) had brown hair and green eyes.

Petchko said nothing to Alexander, he simply gave him an apologetic glance, and went to go and supplicate himself alongside his fellow broken ones. Some habits were hard to break.

Alexander looked the priest/member of the Circle of the Darkness up and down. He was not impressed with what he saw. Bolsh wasn't fat, there was no one in G'Henna was fat. He wasn't even plump, chubby or overweight… and yet to the silver haired man's senses there was something unpleasantly excessively about the man.

Alexander was also slightly surprised that the group the Circle of Darkness had sent seemed to be made of nothing but priests. Then he realized that given the no doubt heavy theological implications and background of this particular task, priests would be uniquely suited for dealing with it.

He just wished that the Circle had picked some priest other than "Bolsh the Blessed" to lead their half of the expedition, any other priest. Even Yagno Petrovna would have been acceptable by comparison.

At least Yagno seemed to genuinely believe in something other than his own ego. Alexander didn't find the High Priest's blind faith an especially endearing trait, but at least Yagno was probably vaguely aware of the concept that there were things (if not people) more important than himself in the world.

"He does go on a bit doesn't he…." Whispered a voice at to Alexander's right.

He turned his head slightly and saw a great deal of black fabric utterly obscuring whoever was talking.

Tilting his head a further still so that he could bring his left eye to bear on the speaker, Alexander discovered that it was none other than Madar himself.

He was surprised, both that the priest had decided to leave the relative civilization of Zhukar, and that he was willing to speak ill of his superior.

On the other hand, Zhukar might not be an especially safe place for priests at the moment. If Zhakata's Inquisition had any wits about them at all they'd suspect some rebellious priests must have been involved in the High Temple's desecration.

Maybe if Alexander was especially lucky, the inquisition would follow that particular train of thought well past he bounds of common sense (as religious extremists were prone to do) and assume that some rouge inquisitors might have been involved as well.

If the Inquisition started inquisting itself then it would inevitably result in a net positive for G'Henna.

"One could certainly make that argument." Alexander reflected while noncommittally shrugging his shoulders.

Madar, seeing how awkwardly Alexander needed to tilt his neck, circled around his conversation partner to stand on his left side instead.

"Looks like he's not the only one whose been making converts though…. Who are your friends?" He inquired, looking over in the direction of the accompanying wolves.

Gavin thumped his tail on the ground and barked, evidently aware that he and his packmates were the topic of conversation.

Granted, Alexander wouldn't be surprised if Gavin had some dire wolf in his family tree, it was just that in G'Henna a dire wolf would remain constantly half starved, which lead to it growing no larger than your average wolf.

"That's Surehunt and his mate Swiftpaw." Alexander answered.

Madar tilted his head back and forth several times, looking first at Alexander then at "Surehunt" then back to Alexander.

Then he chuckled.

"Well, guess I walked right into that one. What does he really call himself?" Madar insisted, sounding more amused than anything.

That was not how Alexander had expected him to respond. Honestly, he hadn't even expected Madar to realize that he was being mocked.

"I don't see why his name shouldn't be Surehunt." The silver haired man insisted, deciding to draw this particular absurdity out a little bit further.

Madar chuckled again and reached up for the small human finger bone he wore above his heart as a badge office.

He tore it free from his outfit and tossed it to Gavin, who snapped it up eagerly. There wasn't likely to be much (or any) marrow left in it, but wolves didn't turn down perfectly good bones in G'Henna.

"There's more to G'Henna than Zhukar and the desert. There are a few minor farming villages all over the place if you know where to look. Humble people living humble lives, doing what they can to survive.

My father raised cows for example. I would have also, but while I said my devotions to Zhakata no more devoutly than any other member of the family, the Beast God chose me alone to give his magic to. I discovered my talents before I was of age to join the priesthood properly though, so for a while I simply used my abilities to help around the farm. Being able to talk to animals made certain things a lot easier, like dealing with the local wolfpack. Its alpha went by Bill." Madar informed Alexander.

"Well, it seems I am undone by my own lies." Alexander admitted with a chuckle of his own.

Then he slowly turned his head in the Bolsh's direction, the self aggrandizing priest was still going on.

"How did the Circle of Darkness last a single month, let alone however long exactly it has been going on for with him in charge?" He couldn't help but ponder.

To his surprise Madar was neither insulted nor saddened by the comment.

"It didn't. Bolsh was the first man of the cloth to join the Circle, but our true strength has always come from the people of G'Henna itself. Bolsh may 'lead' the circle inside G'Henna, but even he must obey The Son of Rust." Madar explained.

"The Son of Rust?" Alexander repeated the name, allowing a slight touch of confusion to creep into his voice.

Before Madar got a chance to say anything further Gavin thumped his tail on the ground once more. When the two men turned to look in his direction he thumped his tail yet again.

"I think Gavin knows when an especially long story is coming. Lets go get him and his pack fed first, then he'll have more patience for me listening to other humans expound at length… so long as they're not Bolsh." The silver haired man decided.

End Chapter.

AN: Alexander's sign of self harm are not a good thing at all psychologically speaking (even if he can regenerate) that goes without saying. If you hadn't noticed yet though, Alex is not the most mentally stable hero imaginable. In short, recall what he's had to say about how it feels to transform, and this shouldn't really take you by surprise.

There's technically no "simple" priestly spell for talking with animals. That said, given that it's a level one druid spell, and no character in story has perfect out of character knowledge of the system on which their reality operates (assuming it even perfectly operates on D&D 3.5 or something similar), it is entirely reasonable that Madar's first level was in druid while he was still a farmhand, but then proceeded to multi-class/invest all future levels only in cleric once he was old enough to travel to Zhukar and join the priesthood.

Also Logan the Grim is in no way… PFFF… yeah right. Logan the Grim is fully intended to be the Ravenloft fantasy equivalent of Logan Grimnar from Warhammer 40K. Though just to be clear, Alex doesn't view "Logan the Grim" as a person who actually existed, just an impossibly awesome hero that people tell stories about as a way to deliver morals or give hope to one another.

The story that Alex tells if "fantasy accurate" to one of Logan Grimnar's exploits in 40K, killing a Chaos Champion, though in the middle of a pitched battle rather than a simple duel, breaking his (Logan's) sword in the process and deciding that since there is still a battle going on around him, he'll arm himself with the axe his foe was using.

This is a tremendously bad idea for anyone who is not as badass as Logan Grimnar, because using weapons of powerful chaos warriors is often a surefire ticket to being driven insane and or evil by said weapon.

But Logan Grimnar is by the rule of tautologies as badass as Logan Grimnar, so he managed to successfully use the axe, then had it remade in order that people who weren't as badass as him could be around it without risking that they might residually fall to Chaos from being in the same room as the axe he was holding…

The "moral" that Alex provides at the end is likewise taken from Warhammer 40K, slightly modified to describe "evil" rather than "chaos".

What matters most, and what you probably realized yourselves already is that this particular story about someone managing to use an evil weapon to do good deeds is very near and dear to Alex's heart, for reasons that likewise can probably figure out without me telling you.

Oh and in D&D 3.5 (and most other versions of D&D I could find, as the over all point held true when I looked at 5th edition real quick) dire wolves are Int 2, same as normal wolves (in 5th they're both Int 3) with only a +4 in Cha when it comes to changes in mental stats. That said, I'm going to go by the principle that dire animals are at least a little bit brighter than normal animals, by default being bigger they have to have bigger brains. Anyway, the issue of if Gavin has any dire wolf blood in him is entirely still up to debate, Alex is just making up a theory to try and explain what he's seeing.

In all likelihood wolves that you meat in G'Henna are probably just a bit smarter on average than say wolves in Verbrek, simply because it isn't easy at all to survive, and so the smarter ones also tends to be the ones who reach mating age and reproduce most frequently.

Also hey, look at this, I finally managed to turn this chapter out in something approaching my normal quick time frame… expect the next one to be up in two weeks or so though since I'm not sure I can keep up the one a week pace again yet...


	12. Chapter 12

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Twelve: Hum Hallelujah, just off the key of reason.

A wolfpack hunts with cunning and a level of tactical acumen that can at times rival the complex march and counter march maneuvers of human armies at war.

At what point do the wolves reveal themselves to the prey, and do they reveal their pack's full strength or just some of its members, hoping to possibly to lure the prey into fleeing towards their concealed packmates? When do they chase and exhaust, when do they go in for the kill, and how can they best avoid whatever manner of defenses the prey has?

A well planned hunt could at times be almost as much deadly dance as brutal slaughter.

The sight of four not quite half starved (probably only a quarter starved, which for G'Henna was positively plump) bovines chewing away at whatever vegetation they could find would bring both joy and trepidation to any true wolf's heart.

Here was prey sure enough, yet how to get the maximum amount of meat for the minimum amount of being maimed in the process?

Such was a matter for considerable consideration and careful planning….

"YOU ARE MADE OF MEAT AND MY PACK IS HUNGRY!" Then there was the Alexander Diamondclaw approach to the hunting.

The silver furred wolfman monster howled his declaration of swiftly coming death, and then charged.

Alone.

He'd been very clear to Gavin on this particular point, and only when the alpha rolled over to show his belly had the silver haired man been certain that the wolf understood.

The cattle unsurprisingly lifted their heads from the ground and turned to face the swiftly approaching threat. Then the largest bull lowered its own head, leveling a pair of horns the size your average short sword.

It snorted in contempt, revealing that its teeth were surprisingly sharp for a herbivore.

Its companions did likewise and the four animals pounded their hooves against the dusty ground stampeding towards the crazy wolf who had dared to attack them by itself.

Alexander loped along on all fours, his strides eating up distance at a tremendous speed. As big as he was in his current form, he was still smaller than the largest of the bovines charging towards him.

That was why rather than take the bull by the horns, he jumped clear over the four very surprised animals.

Wolves could jump, but Alexander could leap across simply ludicrous distances when he had a proper running start.

He sailed easily over the confused cattle, who awkwardly tried to turn first their heads and then their bodies to continue the stampede. Stampedes much like a block of charging infantry were notoriously hard to stop though. They could turn, but they did not stop, and they certainly didn't preform an abrupt about face.

Which was more was more less exactly what Alexander did mid leap, twisting himself around so that instead of looking away from the cattle, he was focused on their backsides.

His claws gouged out plumes of dust and chunks of dirt as he landed, sliding a few inches as he bled off his momentum, but then his was body was still.

The stillness lasted for only a brief flicker before he was off again, racing at the back of the bovines.

He got in among with almost contemptuous ease, and tore at their haunches in between dodging their flailing blind kicks.

One of the bovine beasts could not longer support its own weight and collapsed to the ground.

That reduced the small herd down to three, and created still more angels of attack for Alexander.

With another (much smaller) leap her managed to land on the back of his target. No normal wolf would ever be large enough to so easily force a cow to the ground beneath its own bulk, but Alexander Diamondclaw was no normal wolf. His jaws found ready purchase in the beast's throat and there was a small fountain of red as he ripped it to shreds.

That meant he now only had a pair of foes left.

A pair of foes who were still struggling to try and turn around to face him. Alexander's claws soon plunged deeply into one bull's back and he began to tear away huge chunks of its flesh until he was able to get at the animal's spine.

One more swift stroke severed it, and brought the mighty beast to the ground. Then there was only a single bull left, and this no longer a hunt, but a slaughter. With a relaxed smile (or a hungry bearing of his fangs) on his face, Alexander got in close enough to grab the bull's head, and twisted. Its neck snapped and the beast died a few moments later.

Then he lopped back over to the animal whose legs he had previously savaged, as this one was still alive. Suffice to say, he soon rectified that particular problem.

That done, he turned and let loose with a long howl to call his packmates.

Gavin and the other wolves eagerly hurried over to the scrumptious feast that Alexander had prepared for them with Madar following a much more sedate pace.

By the time the priest/Circle of the Darkness member arrived Alexander had finished transforming back to his human form.

Twenty six hungry eyes gazed up at Alexander as the wolves gathered in a hodge podge random formation around the dead animals.

"They're for you. All for you. You need it a lot more than I do since I can still get by on fruits and grains." He insisted.

Still the wolves stared at him. He didn't need them to say a single word, the look in their eyes was more than loud enough.

The Alpha ate first.

"Fine, if it will really make you feel more comfortable." Alexander transformed one of his hands into a furry paw, used it to tear of a small chunk of meat from one of the fallen bovines and quickly consumed it.

This seemed satisfy the wolves' need for the something approaching the traditional feeding order, as they now fell upon the four dead animals with a vengeance. Despite how they'd silently protested that Alexander go first, the dozen the other wolves started ripping and chewing the same moment that Gavin did.

Sure enough, laid out before them was enough fresh flesh that no one would be going hungry, not even omegas.

"That's a handy trick." Madar congratulated Alexander on the ease with which he had dispatched the small herd.

"Oh you wouldn't believe." The silver haired man agreed once he finished chewing up the bite he'd taken.

"The wolves look to you a lot differently than they did with me. Once I could talk with them, I managed to reach a few tenuous agreements with Bill, but that was it. He was simply smart enough to realize that having me guaranteed to bring them some food every so often was a better arrangement than having to risk life and limb raiding my family's farm. Still, Bill and his pack, they only tolerated me, if that. I brought out food, left it where he wanted, and if I didn't head off they'd start howling at me to go.

Gavin, and the others, they love you." The priest noted with a certain amount of longing in his eyes.

"If you want to be loved, get a dog. Wolves only love their own. I just happen to be 'their own' to them." Alexander admitted.

"Anyway, you were going to tell me about the Son of Rust?" He pressed a moment later, wanting to bring the conversation back to where it had been going before hunger had interrupted.

Madar gave the wolves one quick glance, then slowly nodded his head.

"The Son of Rust is the one who founded the Circle of Darkness. When Rega banished and sealed away Zhakata the Provider, Yagno Petrovna inevitably decided the that the Provider could not be real.

He decreed that Zhakata had only one aspect, declared preaching of the Provider to be heresy, and all statues the Provider were relegated to the Avenue of False Gods. The people of G'Henna fell in line, and did what we were told. For a while, even the idea of Zhakata the Provider was lost to the people of G'Henna.

Then the Son of Rust was the one who rediscovered Zhakata the Provider." Madar finally was able to explain.

"How did he come to be known as the Son of Rust?" Alexander inquired.

"One night during a storm he sought shelter from the thunder and lashing rain inside an abandoned temple. There among the rust he discovered a statue that had been broken into many pieces. He was struck by a strange desire, and spent the entire night slowly reassembling the statue.

When dawn came, he knelt before a statue of Zhakata the Provider. That was when he knew that there had to be more than scrabbling for existence in this world, there had to be more than starvation and suffering." Madar answered.

Alexander twitched his head slightly.

"I'd like to meet this Son of Rust." He pondered, wondering if the man in question was still alive.

"He understandably tends to be a bit on the reclusive side, I've only met himself twice myself. Still, if we manage to free Zhakata the Provider I'm sure the Son will come to you on bended knee to offer his thanks." Madar gently rebuffed the request.

Alexander could accept that for the moment. After all, he didn't expect the Circle of Darkness' leader to step out from behind a rock and introduce himself just because it would be convenient.

"Does it feel empowering, to have a part of a god so close to you?" Madar suddenly asked, his eyes closing in on the dark jewel around the silver haired man's throat.

Alexander scoffed and momentarily lifted the necklace up over his head and free from his throat, though still keeping a tight grip on it.

"This thing? I hate to disappoint you Madar, but I've dealt with magical artifacts far more powerful in the past, or at least ones that felt far more powerful. I've seen a staff that with a single touch could make someone holding it crazy enough to think they were a god! All this thing seems to be is an especially fancy accessory." Alexander huffed.

"Well, I hope it is only refusing to flaunt its power, and will come into its own when the time is right. If that isn't the black stone we were told of, the one used to seal Zhakata the Provider away, then we're all wasting a lot of time." Madar muttered, kicking despondently at the ground while Alexander returned the Eye of Zhakata to its place around his neck.

"This place isn't entirely without its charms, there's fresh air, no bells, no inquisitors, so long as you take the correct magical precautions the heat doesn't bother you to much." Alexander admitted.

It was clear that he wasn't the only one who had taken those particular "precautions" given that Madar's wasn't sweating profusely at the moment.

"Just between the two of us, because I'm sure Bolsh would need at least an hour to tell me what he thought the weather would be like tomorrow, does the Circle of Darkness know anything important about where Zhakata the Provider is supposed to be held? It's location on a map for example would be nice, otherwise we're going to spend a lot of time wandering around out here." Alexander pointed out.

Madar awkwardly looked around to make sure that there was no one else in earshot other than Gavin and his packmates.

"Just between you, me, and your furry friends, it was once one of the largest temples ever built to Zhakata outside of Zhukar. The place was originally built to honor Zhakata in both of his aspects, Devourer and Provider alike. The few bits and pieces of information we've been able to find were hardly explicit, but I'd be surprise if the place hasn't been altered now to appeal only to the Devourer aspect so as to better trap the Provider." Madar admitted.

Alexander nodded slowly in agreement. That made about as much sense as anything else he was likely to hear when dealing with gods.

"If this does work, if Zhakata the Provider really is trapped in that temple, we find it, we free him, he showers us with gifts, we use said gifts to take control of Zhukar away from Rega and the Inquisition, what comes next?" Alexander asked, though he didn't wait to hear Madar's answer before turning his attention back towards the feasting wolfpack.

"This… this has all grown far too strange for my liking. Things used to be different Alexander. Some things I know only because they'd passed down to me by my father or my grandfather, but still, things used to be different.

G'Henna was always a hard land, but it didn't used to be quite so brutal, not the land, and not the faith of Zhakata. There was a time when G'Henna had other lands on its borders, instead of strange rolling clouds of mist as far as the eye can see. There were once times when my family would exchange some of is cows for casks our neighbors brew.

There was a time when, when we weren't afraid of everything and everyone! I still don't know what I'm going to do when all is said and done, but I'd like it if my life at least got a little simpler." The priest sighed.

"Simpler would be good. Simpler would be good, but I can't remember the last time that my life got any simpler though." Alexander reluctantly reflected.

Then he slowly turned around to face the other man once again.

"Lets go back to the Mongrelmen Camp." Th silver haired man declared.

Several lupine head's rose from their meal and one half spit a few chunks of meat to let loose with a rather mournful "awwoo?" of confusion.

"Okay lets go back in another five minutes." He amended, having momentarily forgotten that Gavin and the others hadn't finished eating yet.

XXX XXX XXX

"Why do you still believe?" Cal Wright couldn't help but ask Kiryl when (eventually) the sermon that Bolsh had been delivering broke up and the Circle of Darkness decided to focus on more mundane matters.

For the entire length of his sermon Kiryl had paid attention, no matter how banal or self serving the priest's proclamations had been.

Kiryl looked like he might be slightly younger than Cal, though estimating the age of a mongrelman was extremely difficult given how their various animal features blended with their human ones.

"Zhakata did this to me. How could I doubt his power after that?" Kiryl answered with a surprisingly calm and unruffled air.

"Fair enough, but how can you still worship him after that? I don't worship the Clockmaker, and that's without spending every day of my adult life being chased by gigantic gears." The alchemist clarified his initial question.

"The Clockmaker?" Kiryl repeated the name slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly.

Well slightly at first, some owlish features of his body actually allowed him to tilt his head to a far greater degree than Cal felt comfortable watching.

He tried his best not to think about what must have been done to Kiryl's neck to make such a thing a possible, even while he was inevitably looking directly at it.

"The world is a vast complex machine, too strange and too bizarre to have come about by pure random chance. Pure random chance just can't possibly explain the idea that there are places were you can walk into a cloud of mist and walk out five feet to the left of where you started. Magic that precise, that taunting, it must have had some sort of sentient hand in its creation, even if not an especially benevolent one.

The Clockmaker is what Lamordian's call the being who crafted the world, who gave the gears of reality their very first wind. After that, the machine was so perfect that it could keep spinning on indefinitely, at least to a mortal perceptive, without his help.

Maybe he comes back every aeon or so and give the gears another crank just to make sure things keep spinning along and entropy doesn't reduce us to a lifeless ball of ice and dirt, but beyond that he doesn't care.

Maybe he's off building other universes, or maybe he's just so proud of how well things turned out that he wouldn't dare try to upset his own creation's working with further direct tampering. The Clockmaker doesn't hate, he doesn't help, he doesn't care about us any of us any more than we could care about the tiniest grain of sand.

As I previously mentioned, he doesn't try to smite the people who displease him with gigantic daemons made of intricate gears, its one of his more appealing traits." Cal explained.

Kiryl tilted his head still further, it wasp practically upside down now, and even though he didn't seem to be in any pain Cal still wanted to wince mightily.

"That's what everyone 'believes' where you're from." Kiryl pressed.

"Pretty much." Cal responded.

"The people there must be very cold." Kiryl ruminated.

"Oh you have no idea, say what you will about how the rest of the Core tends to be full of monsters that are trying to kill, maim, or suck out your soul, if not some combination of all three, it is generally pretty warm." The Lamordian admitted.

Kiryl shook his head slowly, but thankfully only after untwisting his neck.

"Not what I meant. I wouldn't even want to believe, let alone worship, a god with so little interest in what he has brought about. Zhakata cares.

He cares enough to grant power o those who believe in him, to let them preform miracles. Reduced to only Zhakata the Devourer though, he only knows how to take an interest in the affairs of mortals rather than 'care' for them. He is a rabid wolf, lashing out in pain and suffering, rather than the beast that hunts to provide for its pack." Kiryl insisted.

"I know somebody you really shouldn't make that analogy to." Cal couldn't help but insist with a sardonic smile tugging slightly at his lips.

Then he reset his expression back to a more neutral one and continued his questioning.

"Yagno Petrovna, Bolsh the Blessed, even if you believe in a Zhakata that is greater than Zhakata the Devourer, why would anyone ever want to listen to people like that? No offense..." Cal promptly fell back on the age old, world wide, tactic of tagging "no offense" to the end of a statement that had very much been meant to offend; this was an especially common variant where the offense was aimed at a group the person you were talking to was a part of, but not especially at said person in particular.

"The sky is green." Kiryl answered with a strange serenity.

Cal took a brief moment to tilt his head up to make sure that the world hadn't gone all topsy turvy (even more so than usual) on him recently.

"No, I'm pretty sure it's blue." He insisted, helpless before (what he considered to be) the innate Lamordian urge to correct obviously factually incorrect statements whenever they presented themselves.

"How often do you look up at the sky? Would have ever bothered to think about its color if I hadn't said it was green? That is the power and the glory of Zhakata.

To hear one who is incorrect speak about him, it lights a fire in the mind and gives one inspiration that was not there before. The mind thinks, considers, and ponders in ways it never had before so that it can properly refute the statement. To hear a lie spoken about Zhakata can help you understand him just as much as the truth." Kiryl declared solemnly.

Cal blinked a few times and then shrugged. He had heard crazier theories when it came to religion.

End Chapter.

AN: Ooph, this chapter should not have taken as long to write and post as it did. Sorry about that guys, been busy playing video games on my weekends and not proofreading. I'm sorry that this, one of the most important Monster Party stories is getting a little bit (a lot) dragged out. Hopefully the next chapter will come quicker and hopefully the extra time between chapters at least gives me a bit more time to consider what I want to have happen in each chapter even when I'm not actively writing them.

Anyway, if you're wondering, no Alexander didn't just go and kill some random farmer's animals. In point of fact, those aren't even normal bovines, as pointed out, their teeth are strangely sharp, and that's because they're not just "feral" (as feral as bovines get) but that have become carnivorous pack predators that trample their prey to death.

By the way, I am aware that Cal's argument has a distinct "the human eye is too perfectly designed for it to be a result of evolution" air about it. No that is not an argument that I support, at all. Yes that's a comparison that Cal would find horrifyingly insulting and abhorrent if he knew about it in full.

That said, much like the silver arm bands back in Nosos, characters in these stories act will act without the same context for knowledge that we have. Cal coming to the conclusion that they world he lives in is too damn weird to be the result of natural non-magical/non-divine phenomenon, is entirely the correct conclusion SO LONG AS YOU ARE IN RAVENLOFT!

Really it can technically apply to any D&D setting but it is especially true in Ravenloft where you don't have to look very hard to find things that just flat out don't make sense. The Shadow Rift is a big one, but another big one is how the world actually flat. It is impossible to go east by going west, or north by going south or you get the idea, Ravenloft is completely flat, and out at the edges of it there are huge rolling fog banks that if your lucky will just spit you back out again should you go into them.

To say nothing of Pocket Domains which are somehow "in Ravenloft" despite the fact that they are completely adrift geographically and impossible to enter unless the Mists want you to, with Nosos being the worst offender as it can sometimes connect to the Core, but tends to do so in various different places. If there was a "phantom country" that suddenly popped up in a different place every few years… yeah I'd have a hard time believing that some divine hand wasn't involved in that!

Also ironically, while Cal comments on how he hasn't been spending "every day of my adult life being chased by gigantic gears" he actually kind of has. If you substitute the Dark Powers for the Clockmaker (a not entirely unreasonable substitution, though the Dark Powers are a bit more active than the Clockmaker, though like the Clockmaker they don't give you magic if you worship them) he's spent a lot of his time getting caught up in those particular "gears" without realizing it.

On the other hand one could also argue that he's been doing a major service to said Clockmaker, since Cal and friends serve to clean the "dirt" out of the "gears" or at least give them another firm crank by killing off/seriously inconveniencing darklords. That's what Ravenloft is there for after all, to make the darklord's suffer and the group has been doing a pretty good job of that if you haven't noticed.


	13. Chapter 13

Monster party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Thirteen: We were skulking through this dungeon...

"Wahrg what are you doing?" Alexander couldn't help but ask at the sight before him.

"Wahrg carrying. Wahrg good at carrying!" The mongrelman answered, with almost childlike chipperness.

At the moment Wahrg was holding one large bag in either hand, and there was a third tied to his back with rope.

Alexander could have left the first two go unremarked upon, but that third one, it was as if Wahrg was a beast of burden rather than a person….

"Do you propose to simply leave my baggage laying around for any brigand or beast to poke through?" Blustered Bolsh.

Finding that the cleric was the one responsible for Wahrg's current overburdened state didn't surprise Alexander in the least.

At first.

Then he thought about it a little bit more and a few things didn't add up.

"I understand that you might have brought a great many things with you… but how exactly did you bring it out with you in the first place? Wahrg spent most of yesterday with us..." The silver haired man inquired.

He somehow doubted that the priests had gotten a mongrelmen group to carry their baggage train all the way from Zhukar, or if they had (which would raise its own problems) why weren't those particular mongrelmen still carrying it?

"We road out here in a carriage, but then the great Zhakata laid claim to it for his own needs." Bolsh insisted.

Alexander was about to raise the obvious objection to that statement but someone else chose to speak up first.

"Zhakata!" A high pitched voice giggled, as from over a nearby hill a carriage suddenly appeared.

There were no horses hitched to it, and yet somehow the carriage had managed to roll its way up to the top of a hill.

Alexander wished he could have been surprised about that, he really did.

"Stand back." The silver haired man advised as he drew Wolf Claw from its sheath.

"Zhakata!" Cried out the carriage as it started to roll downhill towards them, gaining speed with every passing moment.

It was headed (with complete and utter unpredictability) towards Alexander clearly intending to run him down.

Alexander Diamondclaw quickly separated himself from the other two in order to make sure that no one (not even Bolsh) ended up getting harmed by the animator imbued carriage.

"Zhakata!" It declared one final time as it closed within ten feet.

At the last moment Alexander swung aside and thrust out with Wolf Claw. The blade slid neatly in between the spokes of a carriage wheel, at which point Alexander didn't even bother trying to hold it.

The animator seemed to grant the wooden wheels unnaturally resilience because Wolf Claw failed to slice them apart.

Which did the animator precious little good, since it couldn't make the wheels strong enough in order to break through Alexander's mystical blade.

As Callan Wright was fond of saying, there are few things more deadly in the world than something that had been moving very fast coming to an abrupt stop, be it a bullet impacting against its target, or a man falling off a cliff.

A wagon having one of its wheels suddenly getting jammed fared little better. The entire vehicle flipped over, the carriage ripped itself in half, and as tradition demanded, a single wheel (it wasn't even the one that Alexander had jammed Wolf Claw into) rolled forlornly away from the wreck.

"Was that your carriage?" Alexander asked with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders as he retrieved Wolf Claw and returned it to its sheath.

"Yes…." Bolsh reluctantly admitted as he examined the now thoroughly wrecked vehicle.

It probably said bad things about Alexander in the priest's eyes that a carriage shouting his gods name had singled him out to attack. Alexander didn't especially care at the moment.

"Well, since I ended up wrecking it, let me do what I can to help." He offered before promptly taking the bags from Wahrg's hands.

In theory he could have just gotten Devi to use her bag of holding to store the baggage… but somehow Alexander doubted if Bolsh would accept, and besides, he didn't especially want to intermix Bolsh's belongings with his own.

That, and Alexander Diamondclaw was pretty good at carrying also.

XXX XXX XXX

So it was that the group struck out through the desert. Alexander carried as much baggage as he could, even allowing more of the it to be tied to his own back with some of Devi's rope. James carried one bag, and even Madar decided to carry another (smaller) one himself.

Florence meanwhile provided her magical protection against the heat (to the other adventures and mongrelmen, she trusted that the priests could look after themselves in such matters) as well as magically summoned water for those who needed it.

With such aid the patchwork group was able to make surprisingly quick progress considering that they were moving through the desert on foot.

With the priests leading the way eventually a strong breeze blew them southward into the cold wastes, scouring them with sand and girt. Ahead seemed to lie only frustration, a canyon with no obvious exits.

As Alexander, James, and Mirri squinted at the darkening cliffs, they detected something ivory white huddled at the base like an ancient tomb.

The structure was squat and broken, rising from the stony floor of the plain. Cracked eight feet tall shards formed a toothy fence, barring strangers from this ruin, though several lay toppled and shattered on the rocky soil.

An archway pierced the wall and a yellow path lead through it to the building's only visible entrance… a gargantuan, monstrous skull. The tips of its menacing canines sunk into the ground like fangs into soft flesh where they formed another archway leading into the structure's dark interior. A faint moaning sound began to emerge as the sand scrapped against their flesh.

"Well… that looks friendly." Cal commented, once the alchemist had gotten a chance to take a good long look at the building.

"It looks every bit as friendly as I expected it to." Devi countered, taking a moment to run a blue gloved hand along the length of her flail.

Alexander turned around and waved his hands warningly at the band of mongrelmen and priests.

"I am an adventurer by trade, and this is what we in the adventuring business would call a 'dungeon'. There are going to be monsters inside, there are going to be traps. There will be significant amounts of peril.

None of you are to go into any room that we haven't already announced as clear, otherwise you're going to either get yourselves killed because we aren't there to protect you, or possibly get us killed by making a fight more complicated than it needs to be. Are we perfectly clear on that point?" He demanded of all those traveling behind them.

The direct unflinching harshness of Alexander's voice seemed to pierce Bolsh's aura of smug self satisfaction and even the boorish priest nodded in meek agreement. Having limited his concerns to the things which would be intentionally trying to kill him (and those things intentionally designed to kill people like him) Alexander and his companions pressed forward.

The faint moaning only seemed to grow louder as they drew nearer, and beyond the broken fence lay desolation and death. The remains of who knew how many small creatures lay spread out before them in a field of bones that had been utterly bleached by the desert's sun.

Even more ominously there was a "clearish" path through the random mangled remains, a section of ground that instead covered only by the weather beaten crowns of human skulls.

"You know, this is morbid even me!" Mirri couldn't help but admit as her white boots tread upon the first of soon many crushed skulls.

The strange building's aura of menace only grew stronger as the adventures drew closer, but this was not the first time they'd been subjected to sensations of uncertain dread and doom. This was a place that decent people should never have needed to set foot, which was why Alexander Diamondclaw was ready to lead the way straight to its heart.

The entrance to the building was a gigantic skull fifteen feet tall if it was an inch. Impaled upon one of its tremendous canines was a human skeleton.

"James, check for traps." Alexander insisted, willing to let the werecat take the lead temporarily rather than risk suffering the same fate.

James reached into one of his red jacket's many pockets and produced a few good sized rocks. An expertly aimed throw sent one of them skipping across the skulls, and just past the oversized fangs. Ancient gears ground against one another and the teeth began to close, but with an almost glacial slowness.

It seemed that for once a death trap might not have been made quite durable enough to withstand the rigors of time, as this one's gears had clearly been half (or more likely three quartets) jammed by dust and dirt. With that immediate concern out of the way Alexander pressed on, wondering what fresh horror would be waiting for him.

Passing through the skull's mouth caused them to enter a hallway that stretched out into darkness and smelled like a crypt. What could be seen of the floor was carpeted with animal bones. Each step that Alexander took deeper in produced a loud crunching noise and made him grateful that he hadn't given away his extra pair of boots.

The only source of illumination were skull shaped sconces that glowed with a pallid blueish white light.

"From her bag of holding Devi produced a lantern, the tools to ignite it, and set about providing the others with a less macabre source of illumination. The hallway soon opened up into a large chamber bathed by an eerie blue glowing emanating from its very walls.

Spaced along the length of the room were colossal leg bones supporting the ceiling like columns. Beside each of its three doors, huge one-eyed skeletons (the creature's skulls were deformed in such a way that they had only a single large socket in the middle of their heads) towered. They wore ornate armor bristling with nasty barbs and stood erect, their mailed fists resting on the hilts of massive swords.

"Hello?" Mirri called out to the skeletons.

The ten foot tall skeletons didn't respond in the slightest.

The vampire began to slowly approach one of the trio, and when that failed to get a response she waved a hand back and forth in its face.

This still failed to yield any sort of action on the skeleton's part.

She took a step back away from the armored giant and tilted her head back towards her silver haired superior.

"Better safe than sorry?" She inquired with a smile slowly starting to spread across her face.

"Better safe than sorry." He agreed.

Mirri took a step back towards the skeleton, and then kicked it in the knee with every ounce of strength she had.

Bone shattered, and the rest of the skeleton (armor and all) promptly toppled over, at which point Mirri started stomping the rest of it into a fine white powder.

Even this direct sustained attack failed to rouse the two remaining skeletons to any sort of movement.

That made it easy for the adventurers to surround and smash them into an inoffensive mix of bone chips and powder, tossing their armor and weapons inside Devi's bag of holding. Nothing good ever came from leaving gigantic unmoving armored skeletons just standing around when you were exploring a dungeon, nothing.

With that obvious threat (or at least obvious possible future threat) deal with the six were now free to explore the room more thoroughly. In niches throughout the room stood tiny ivory figurines of exquisite workmanship and once Florence had used her magic to make sure that there weren't cursed they were added to Devi's bag of holding.

With the room secured and everything of obvious value obtained the next priority was determining where to go next. The room had three doors, one leading left, one right one seemingly into an alcove straight ahead (if slightly on the left), and another section of the hallway that just continued onwards.

Luckily there was a fairly simple way to making such decisions that at least took the randomness out of the matter.

"Left hand rule." Alexander insisted, seeing no reason to deviate from the group's standard dungeon clearing procedure.

While this building was ominous to say the least, it seemed willing to at least remained rooted in the realm of the physical and not spiral off into unknown eldritch locations.

The door on he left side of the chamber swung open easily enough and the adventures proceeded forward.

Curving around a corner the group found a that the hallway kept going, but also that there was a door on the right side of the hall. At Alexander's insistence James gave it a quick jiggle and found that it opened easily enough.

What they found inside made the room look as if it had once been a study, complete with armchair and fireplace. Now however, the armchair had stuffing pushing through its rotted covering. The walls were lined with shelves, many holding bizarre little items while the mantlepiece and fireplace were both carved with ornate, abstract designs.

"Zhakata the Provider must have been really easy going, do gods normally build temples with studies?" Cal couldn't help but ask, since Alexander has passed on Madar's words to the rest of the group.

"The Circle of Darkness might not know as much about this place as they think they do." Devi countered.

It certainly wouldn't have been the first time that a mysterious group had proven misinformed… assuming that they hadn't been purposefully misinforming the adventures instead.

"Whatever this building used to be, it… it feels like its been sucking the life out of the desert around it." Florence warned the others.

"Just to be clear, how much 'life sucking' is it doing? Because if you know any sort of magical spells to prevent that from happening, please cast them on me, now." Cal pleaded.

In the alchemist's book the phrase "life sucking" was never ever one that you wanted to hear used, it never lead to good places.

"It is only dangerous to weak and simple minded animals who lack the will to resist it. I think some of those skeletons we saw outside were of animals that came to this place, fell under its spell, and because of that influence decided to simply lay down and die. So long as you don't feel an overwhelming desire for death you're fine." The dryad reassured him.

Cal took a moment to sling Phoenix over his back and pat himself down.

"Lets see… still vaguely horrified at everything going on around here… still much rather leave this place if we had any kind of real choice… but hey if I'm afraid, that means I want to be alive right?" He reflected with a morose smile.

That worry dealt with, the group began to explore the study in greater detail.

The shelves were mostly filled with esoteric books on various subjects of little importance at the moment (such as "The Manual of Ivory Figurines") that were tossed into Devi's bag of holding on general principle. Knowledge wasn't just power, it was also the promise of profit once you found the right buyer.

As the group explored still further they came upon a strange door.

The others had all been made of wood, but this one had been constructed of brass and onyx with black metal fittings. It was also decorated with strange, angular runes and reeked strongly of death and decay.

Alexander didn't even bother ordering James to try the handle, there was a large metal padlock securing the door closed. Whatever was on the other side of it, someone had worked very very hard to keep it closed.

"This won't end well." Cal abruptly predicted.

"There are typically two kinds of things people work this hard to secure, treasure, and horrible monsters that want to kill people." Alexander reflected, while crossing his arms and observing the door more closely still looking for any obvious weak points.

"I'd bet platinum to peanuts its the second one." Cal worried.

"So we should just cross our fingers and hope really hard that it isn't going to break free and try to kill us the moment we get distracted by something else?" Mirri shot back, eager for a chance to spill a little blood, assuming whatever was on the other side of the door still had blood to be spilled, and had even possessed blood in the first place.

"Florence is this door magical..." Alexander asked the obvious question.

A quick cantrip later, she nodded her head.

"Dispel it." He insisted.

Florence got to work casting, and this time the spell craft required a great deal more effort on her part. Eventually however she seemed to be satisfied with the result and nodded to herself.

"That, that was near the limits of what I could pull off..." She warned Alexander and the others.

With the more mystical defenses defeated James got to work on the mundane lock. It was as well crafted as the magical defenses had been, but it could only hold out for so long before the tumblers aligned and the lock clicked open.

The werecat gave the door a gentle push, and then jumped back, ready for whatever was on the other side to emerge.

Emerge it did.

The crooning erupted to near deafening intensity and a viscous foul smelling fluid gushed out. A writhing mass of immense slime covered worms pressed into the hall. Each one was as big as a man, and worse still each worm had a twisted humanoid face.

From the toothless maws of these maggots issued a haunting unnatural song. Their crawling bodies writhed across each other creating the incessant whispers and murmuring. Luckily despite their foul appearance, the creatures seemed as harmless as they were mindless, only interested in squirming about rather than attacking.

"Too ugly to live?" Mirri suggested.

"Too ugly to live." Alexander agreed.

He wasn't sure what these things were, but he was fairly certain that the world would be a better place without them, in fact he was fairly certain the monster's themselves would probably be willing to agree with him, had they been capable of intelligent conversation.

Wolf Claw slid free from its sheath and he got to business. The creature's blood made the smell even worse, but it was a small price to pay for ceasing their guttural cries and revolting squirming. Once they had all been slain the group moved back into the hallway and continued their circular path.

Like the previous door the next one they encountered didn't open at first touch, but it was only made of wood. Even more importantly, no ominous sounds echoed out from behind it, and it was lacking any sort of a lock. It was simply that the door was hinged to only swing inward and didn't do so at James' gentle push.

Even a more forceful shove from Alexander failed to move it.

"Want me to deal with it?" Florence offered after the silver haired man had slammed himself against the door half a dozen times without success.

At his nod she began to chant and wave her staff about. When she finished the door began to twist and writhe like a living thing, turning upon itself. It ripped itself to pieces and fell to the floor revealing that someone had stacked a pair of bunk-beds against the door as an impromptu barricade.

Without the door running interference for them these were easily shoved aside to reveal a room that seemed to have been half torn apart. In the most distant corner of the room writing tables and chair had been stacked haphazardly for some unknown purpose. Crouching at the base of this mess was a dead man, his face pale and skin cracked, but otherwise rather well preserved all things considered.

"Hey you awake?" Mirri called out to the dead body.

As dead bodies had a tendency (some people would insist not nearly a strong enough tendency) to, this one did nothing.

Mirri walked over and gave the dead man who was wearing a black robe with red trim a firm shaking.

"Hey, show some motivation! The worst part of your life, by which I mean all of it, is officially over! Lets see some vigor mortis!" She insisted in a loud and excessively chipper tone she'd doubtlessly picked up from James Firecat.

When the dead body still refused to react she relented and stood up sighing in exasperation.

"I guess there's no helping some people. Well at least that means he won't be needing that dagger he's holding." She pointed out, still grinning.

The dagger in question was clutched tightly in the dead man's hands, its blade engraved with many sigils.

"Florence is that dagger magical?" Alexander pressed, he wasn't in the habit of trusting weapons that were found still gripped tightly in their deceased owners hands, they might not have been able to let go even if they'd wanted to.

"Yes, its also cursed." The dryad answered after only a few seconds of chanting.

Deciding to leave the dagger alone, the group searched for other useful trinkets and nicknacks. There were various tomes and books on the walls, but they were all too battered and decayed to be worth even the space in Devi's bag of holding.

Which that done, the group headed back out into the hallway which soon ran into a dead ends. After a cursory search for hidden passages the six retraced their steps back to the large area where they had encountered the oversized skeletons.

This time they decided to explore the doors that seemed to lead into an alcove, wanting to find out what fresh new danger waited behind them.

The doors weren't locked and the room beyond seemed to be some sort of laboratory or place of healing. At the center of the room was a seven foot long table with leather straps. Around the tables were four benches, each large enough for a human sized figure to lie down upon.

A faint smell of rot hung in the air and along one wall were cages with the carcasses of long deceased animals. Though Florence was able to detect some form of enchantment upon the table and benches what exactly it did eluded the group, and none of them were especially interested in trying to find out when it didn't appear to be actively hostile.

Instead the group did a quick search for valuables (alas none to be found) and then retreated out of the room and headed down the hallway that lead straight ahead this time.

More doors presented themselves and more sights of considerable disinterest were revealed on the other side of them; a bedroom of some kind in one room, a kitchen whose food supplies had long ago either spoiled or been raided (either by animals or human bandits) in another.

Still a third room housed a collection of cages holding the remains of unidentifiable beasts, multiple tables with strong leather straps next to them, several cabinets holding surgical tools and charts of various internal organs which reminded the adventures unpleasantly of past times on a certain island realm. None of the tables in this room seemed to be large enough to have accommodated an actual human being… but you cold never be quite sure could you?

"This place is a temple?" James shuddered at the sight of some of the decayed corpse's which seemed to have a distinctly feline arraignment to their skeletons.

"I never thought I'd say this, but at least the Temple of Bastet felt like it could have been a temple. Like there was once something holy in there, here..." Mirri just let the comment drift off.

Her vampiric nature gave her a 'unique' relationship with holy places, in the sense that if they were made with good intent and well cared for then she wouldn't be able to enter into them without being explicitly invited first. If she was having a hard time finding something religious about this place, then there either wasn't something religious to be found, or ill intent had been involved at some point.

Whatever the history of this place, the group (having reached a dead end) returned back to the original large chamber and decided to head in the one direction that they had not yet gone, right.

This brought them into a tremendous library Bookcases lined every inch of wall space that could be seen, each shelf laden with scrolls, tomes, and more.

Alas, the treasure trove of knowledge was rendered somewhat repulsive by a jumble of bones piled in one corner. Trying to take his mind off the sight, James reached out for one of the books at random, but Mirri slapped his hand away and grabbed hold of them to keep them occupied.

"James, when you're in a big imposing library, you don' touch the books until we've done a proper search for traps." She insisted firmly.

"Think we should deal with those bones?" Devi asked reaching a hand into her bag of holding.

"Oh I would be happy to!" Cal agreed, ready to try and put a stop to that particular threat before it could possibly get any momentum behind it.

He began to reach into Devi's bag of holding, wanting to see what Devi had in mind. What he found was something a bit too heavy for him to be able to pull out. After a few awkward tugs he gave up and instead settled for motioning towards James and Mirri.

"A little help?" He asked awkwardly.

James reached into the bag of holding and with no difficulty at all pulled out a sledgehammer.

Mirri did likewise, a smile slowly starting to creep across her face.

"You know, its not quite as much fun as fighting something that actually bleeds, but if you're gonna kill something that doesn't, at least we can kill it really hard!" She announced proudly.

She gave her sledgehammer a mighty swing and powder and bone chips flew through the air. James' swing was a bit less enthusiastic, but he was no less determined to pound the bones into dust before they got a chance to harm him or any of his friends.

Several powerful blows made sure that the bones wouldn't be capable of harming anyone, ever. Now that the obvious dangers had been dealt with, it was time to look for the less obvious ones.

"Florence what in here is magical?" Alexander requested of his dryad companion.

She waved her hands and did some more chanting.

Then began to sort through a pile of scrolls, gently moving them aside in order to reveal a large well preserved book.

"This one was magical. Given how it looks a lot like a wizards spell book we should probably give it a wide berth. Everything else is safe to take." She explained.

Which was why they took everything else.

As the group was busily shoving texts into Devi's bag of holding, none of them noticed how the few scraps of bone still large enough to be visible were wobbling back and forth on the ground vainly trying to join together.

With that bounty collected, the group focused on a set of stairs leading downwards that brought them to another dark hallway. This one ended in a foot bridge stretching across a huge pit. So great was the pit's size and the pervading darkness that it was impossible to tell how far down it went.

James Firecat pulled another small rock from one of his jacket's pockets and tossed it over the edge into a darkness so deep even his keens could not penetrate it.

He then strained his ears to listen for a sound that never quite came.

Never quite came to his ears at least, keen as they were Mirri's were keener still.

"It landed. A long way down, but it landed. So whatever that is, it's not a portal to another dimension, or if it at least there's something solid for it land on there." She informed the group.

"That's great, not falling into an endless abyss with no choice but eventually put a bullet in my own head is one of my favorite pass times." Cal grumbled.

The bridge itself was made of stout bones held together by sinews.

"I'll go first, flying is easy for me." Mirri offered with a smug grin.

After all if the bridge gave out under her feet then she'd simply be able to turn into mist and float to safety.

She crossed it without difficulty, and only once she had completed her journey did Alexander follow in her footsteps.

"Florence, if it looks like any of us are in danger of falling, don't spare the magic." He insisted before heading out across the bridge.

One by one the group slowly passed across the bridge without incident and headed down yet another hallway.

This one ended in a huge door crafted of some sort of mysterious dark stone. Assuming you could call it a door rather than a 'wall' after looking at it more closely.

There was no trace of a nob or a lever with which to open it. The only thing that it might possibly open in some strange manner were furrows near the floor and ceiling which suggested mechanisms which might cause the door to roll out of the way… and a piece of the door that seemed to be missing.

Near its center was a small gap, just the right size for the black stone hat still dangled around Alexander Diamondclaw's neck.

"Well, this is going to suck." The silver haired man admitted candidly.

End Chapter Thirteen.

AN: No I'm not dead, I just went on vacation, well that and discovered Clash Royal. By the way do you guys enjoy these more in-depth dungeon crawling chapters or should I speed them up/focus on the most important things and not basically show our characters going room by room based on what the adventure book says they should find in each room and describing how they react to it?

Also don't be surprised if I re-upload this chapter tomorrow after taking the time to review it another time, but I wanted to accomplish something other than playing Clash Royal this weekend….


	14. Chapter 14

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Chapter Fourteen: Splashes of eternal hate will flood the floor and clean your slate.

"You know, I've got an idea Boss. A good idea, a great idea, a revolutionary idea, an idea the like of which the Core has never seen before!" Cal began to boast.

"What if we just don't open this door?" The alchemist succinctly suggested.

Alexander rolled his single visible eye and sighed.

"Well of course we could not open the door. The problem is that what exactly would we do next? First we'd have to convince everyone we're traveling with to keep it closed also, or at the very least let us leave and take the Eye of Zhakata with us.

That would be easier said that done given that we're dealing with religious and revolutionary fanatics. Assuming we could pull that off though, the only thing left for us to do would be randomly wandering around G'Henna's deserts until the Mists feel like picking us up and dropping us off somewhere else.

Which I don't consider to be all that likely, because as fickle as the Mists are, I can't remember any time they've ever grabbed us when we were actively in the middle of some major quest. No, they prefer to strike when we're between jobs, and would probably be content to let us spend who knows how long in the middle of G'Henna's deserts, eking out a living thanks only to Florence's spells.

It would be either that, or going back to Zhukar, having made ourselves enemies of both Yagno Petrovna and the Circle of Darkness, ensuring we get it from both sides at once.

Opening this door may be foolish… opening this door is going to be foolish. Our problem is that it isn't quite as foolish as the any of the other options available." The silver haired man insisted.

"So you're saying we can't just go back to Zhukar, and punch Yagno Petrovna in the face? I knew we shouldn't have just let him walk away back in the temple..." Mirri pouted.

"So, do any of us have any idea what is actually on the other side of this door, or are we all just guessing it is some variant of really, really, really bad?" James Firecat cut in with a surprising amount of timidly.

"I can't be sure if what is behind his door is responsible for killing those animals we saw outside, or if it was some general malefic spell laid upon the building itself. It might even genuinely be Zhakata the Provider trying desperately to survive by clinging to whatever scraps of life it can find. Not that I was especially believe that." Florence offered.

"This discussion is only just starting and already I'm getting sick of it. I've come to a decision and I'm not going to be swayed. We're going to have lunch." Alexander Diamondclaw declared.

This proved to be one of Alexanders more popular decisions, as the group could all agree that whatever was on the other side of the door, after however long it had been sealed away, it could stay sealed away a little longer so that they wouldn't have to face it on an empty stomach.

So the adventurers settled in for a quick meal.

Devi's bag of holding as always had provisions stored away for such an occasion. James nibbled on some magically preserved meat (his lycanthropic constitution could only draw sustenance from freshly slain prey, though it seemed that the proper magic could allow something to qualify as "freshly slain" for quite a while) while in turn Mirri nibbled on James' neck, and the others helped themselves to less exotic fair.

Canteens were drunken from and enough dead wood was also produced to get a small fire going. Its warmth wasn't much, but it somehow managed to make the place feel at least a little less ominous than it would have otherwise.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" An aggrieved voice demanded of them mid-meal.

Unsurprisingly, such loud tones emanated from Bolsh the Blessed.

"Eating. I know it is a rather rare occurrence in G'Henna, but us foreigners tend to do it, several times a day in fact!" Alexander replied mockingly.

"How can you rest and delay while we are on the cusp of greatness?" The priest insisted.

Alexander felt a great deal more like he was on the cusp of calamity, but he knew Bolsh was unlikely to believe that particular argument.

So instead he decided to stick to more well established facts, in between taking bites out of chicken.

"I thought I told you to wait and not go into the dungeon until I said it was clear?" He demanded with an accusatory arched eyebrow.

"I used my inspired divine powers to scry your location and reveal that you were sitting stuffing your faces rather than fighting for the release of Zhakata the Provider and the future of G'Henna!" Bolsh insisted.

Alexander gulped down the rest of the chicken leg, took some time to wipe his mouth clean and slowly stood up.

"All right. You want to see what lays behind this door? Fine, we're going to do this. We're going to open this door. We'll see what is behind it. There's no way that you'll end up regretting it." He sighed.

Then Alexander removed the Eye of Zhakata from his throat, and placed it into the slot in the gigantic door.

There was a soft click and almost instantly gears began to grind and the door began to slide open.

Behind the massive door lay a chamber of a most unusual nature.

Although spacious, it felt small and cramped from just how cluttered it was with tables and shelves. It was lit by two small braziers at the far end of the chamber, which had somehow remained lit since before the door was sealed.

Shadows gathered in the corners of the room and clung to the boney beams overhead. Between the doorway and the braziers stood a podium, upon which rested a massive book. A body was slumped at the foot of the podium, with two more laying near the center of the room, and a fourth crumpled at the far end. Here and there could be seen the remains of small animals in varying states of mummification.

In the center of a complicated series of all manner of runes and mystical markings was yet another figure. This figure wasn't human, it was hard to say why, and yet something from within rose up to insist upon it. The figure looked hunch over and skeletally thin, yet even in such a compact state was still slightly more than eight feet tall.

Alexander took one look at it and came to a conclusion.

"Run." He insisted.

"Alexander..." Florence began to question him.

"Alpha Female, take the pack and run. Don't stop running until you're out of this place." He demanded as he began to reach for his eye patch.

"Alpha Male..." Florence pleaded with him, saying more with two words than most could with twenty.

"I've suffered two horrific defeats in my life that made me who I am today. Both came about because I underestimated my foes. There won't be a third. Take the pack and run." Alexander insisted, grinding subtly sharpening teeth together as he spoke.

Florence nodded slowly and began to make a few quick hand motions which wordlessly drew the attention of the other adventurers and told them that the time had come for flight.

As for Alexander, he cast aside his eye-patch revealing his right eye for all to see once again.

Then he charged forward in a blur of silver hair and black cloth.

As he crossed the boundary of the intricate drawings upon the floor a shower of sparks suddenly burst to life, completely surrounding him and yet leaving him completely unharmed all the same.

He landed within the circle and stood only inches away from the figure contained within it.

That figure began to move with almost pitiable slowness, its skin stretched tightly over a body that bore no clothing. A body that bore no signs of being either male or female.

"Your life… why can't I have your life?" The the creature hissed through its parched lips.

"Is that all you really care about? Taking what belongs to someone else?" He demanded of the strange being.

"Revenge… revenge. Revenge against Yagno Petrovna who imprisoned me. I will have his life, I will destroy all that he loves for what he has done to me..." The figure insisted.

Alexander simply stared at the figure.

For a brief moment he was unwilling to strike the first blow, every though every rational human part of his mind told him that he had best strike fast and true while he might yet have a chance of success.

"Step away from Lord Zhakata you heretic!" Insisted Bolsh the Blessed.

He charged forward towards the circle containing Alexander and the figure, headless of the arcane runes between them.

"Stay back if you value your life!" Alexander warned, turning to face the priest.

"My faith protects me, there can stand no obstacle that can prevent me from standing in worship before my god!" Bolsh declared dramatically.

Then he set foot upon the runes.

The priest was blasted with mystical lighting that erupted from the floor, walls, and ceiling.

One moment Bolsh the Blessed had been a living human priest, the next whatever remained of his body was nothing but a pile of flash cooked meat.

"The blood of a devout man, spilled in earnest dedication to their god. What sweet succulent sustenance it is." Cackled the figure.

Through some unknown, possibly even unknowable method, the figure seemed to draw power from Bolsh's death. Its eyes began to glow with an eerie light, and leathery wings unfolded from its back.

Its facial features seem to run, melt, and remold themselves like clay and began to expand outwards, growing bat-like as well.

"I hunger!" The figure demanded, its voice still a skeletal rasp, but now there was an undercurrent of deniable power behind it.

It crooked a finger at one of the many mongrelmen who had accompanied the Circle of Darkness. The poor unfortunate soul's eye began to emit a golden glow and as if in a daze it started to stumble towards the circle the had so recently slain Bolsh.

Such actions swiftly brought Alexander warring instincts over how best to deal with this figure into complete alignment.

"HE!" The silver haired man punched the figure square in its bat-like face.

"IS!" After the initial blow, his hand swung back, slamming its knuckles into the figure's hallow cheeks.

"OF!" Alexander grabbed the figure by its throat.

"MY!" Alexander dragged its head downwards.

"PACK!" The silver haired man slammed his head into the figure's with all the force he could muster.

The figure went flying backwards, its hollow boned form easily tossed through the air by the fury of Alexander's assault.

It stopped with an abrupt suddenness when it struck the inner edge of one of the arcane runes, as if it had struck an invisible wall. Alas the mystical energy that had claimed Bolsh's life only seemed to trigger when something from outside tried to enter the circle, and not the reverse.

Yet for all the physical violence Alexander unleashed upon the figure, he was unable to break its hold over the mongrelman. The poor transformed G'Hennan continued forward, trodding inevitably upon upon the arcane runes, and was promptly slain no less swiftly than Bolsh.

Strange blue energy crackled between the now deceased mongrelman and the figure, temporarily giving the circle's prisoner an azure haze.

"You have no power here, foolish creature of meat and bone!" The figured laughed in Alexander's face.

Risking a flicker quick look back, Alexander saw that indeed the situation was only growing worse. Now all of the mongrelmen's eyes had developed a golden glow and the Circle of Darkness members who had recently seen their leader slain by their own "god" were all too confused to do anything.

"If I help you kill Yagno Petrovna, will you let them go?" Alexander offered, hoping desperately that he might be able to play one evil off against another.

"How pathetic, that you imagine that you could offer me anything that I could not take from you! I will take everything from Yagno Petrovna, take everything from all who live in his land. Only then will my revenge be complete!" The figure coughed out with malefic glee.

"I won't let you kill them!" Alexander snarled, racing over to the fallen figure and seizing it by the neck before hefting it up into the air.

"Why should I kill when I can do so much better, when I can feast, and they can serve me still! They have already been shaped once, that makes this all so much easier..." The figure cackled in delight.

Alexander pummeled the bizarre figure, but no matter how hard he struck, its bones re-knit themselves only moments after being broken.

The figure stole strength and vitality form all of the mongrelmen in the room, and as it did so their bodies melted like blobs of candle wax. Yagno Petrovna had seen to it that they resembled a jumbled mass of many different types of well known creatures, the figure somehow managed to compound their suffering, remaking them to resemble no mortal being Alexander had ever encountered.

One vaguely resembled a misshapen large fanged orangutan, its hands ending in massive claws while gray skin was covered by reddish brown fur. Another was short and squat, its skin almost rubbery. Its torso was extremely bloated while its arms and legs were oddly gangly, and its mouth had gone slack as slobber poured pass its small fangs. Still a third was simply a mass of pale oozing flesh, emitted the horrid stench of rotting sores.

With every mongrelman so twisted the figure grew larger and stronger.

I had always been taller than Alexander, but now it stood twice his height, towering over the silver haired man.

"Your pathetic attacks are nothing but pinpricks to me! I am reborn, my strength restored! What are you but some pathetic puppy, mindlessly yapping at my feet?" The horrific monster mocked him.

Alexander drew Wolf Claw and struck.

His blade bit cleanly through the beast's right leg at the ankle and sliced the limb in half.

"Does that answer your question?" The silver haired man demanded.

He struck again, aiming for the remaining leg this time, but the beast's mighty right hand descended with equal speed and strength, deflecting this blow, as its wings began to flap so as to steady itself.

"Rage. Such rage in your heart. Your heart is flooded with futile pathetic rage.

It is but a candle before the bonfire of my own though! No mortal can know suffering as I have suffered at the hands of Yagno Petrovna! To be locked away from the world, to starve and shrivel! All in this land will suffer for his actions, all in this land will be made to serve me!" The beast ranted.

As it did so, Alexander attacked again.

"Revenge only begets revenge. That is why I have never in my life desired revenge, only justice for the wrongs done to me. Only justice settles matters with finality!" Alexander vowed as his blade slashed forward with incredible speed and force.

Once again however the creature's mighty limbs managed to swat aside Wolf Claw. As if to add insult to injury the monster's severed limb promptly began to regenerate, a new leg growing from the old one's stump with frightening speed.

"Enough of this, I will rearrange your flesh and you will come to serve me as well!" Demanded the monster as golden energy began to glow about it.

Wolf Claw dropped form Alexander's hands. Then he leaped into the air, transforming into his hybrid shape in the process, and rammed a furry first into the monster's leering smile.

"I will rearrange your fucking face!" The silver furred wolfman snarled back in defiance.

Glistening golden energy poured forth from the monster, but as it struck Alexander it parted like water going around a rock, silver sparks suddenly erupting from his body.

"This pointless contest bores me." The monster huffed contemptuously, seemingly unharmed by Alexander's blow.

With a wave of it right hand and a stream of golden energy casually obliterated the complex runes carved into the floor, annihilating the carefully constructed arcane circle. Then there was an incongruously gentle popping noise and the monster was gone. In its place remained a ghostly golden after image, an incorporeal copy of the beast that been contained within only moments ago.

"While your vain struggle to resist my peerless powers has lost its charm, I might have other uses for you mortal. The crystal that was stolen from me, used to bind me, is missing. While I amused myself at your expense, some other pathetic cockroach has made off with it.

I will have it back, just as I will crush Yagno Petrovna beneath my claws. If you assist me in recovering the stone I will reward you, I will even allow you to leave this land rather than suffering its fate despite the insolence you have shown me. If you continue to defy me however, your suffering and that of all you care or will be as great as Yagno's own.

I will give you one day to decide and hold my servants at bay for that time. If by the next sunrise you have not sworn fealty to me, what remains of your pathetic life will be equal parts long, and agonizing." The ethereal copy informed Alexander.

Just as the creature had promised, its newly remade servants remained still as statues and did not try to attack him, even when he retrieved his eye-patch from the floor. Somehow the black fabric had remained unharmed throughout all the momentous events occurring around it, allowing him to revert back to his human form.

He left the room and on his way out confirmed that there was no sign at all of the black stone that had been used to open the door.

The ominous aura that had pervaded the structure was paradoxically lessened now, probably because it only contained the memories of its twisted occupant rather than the genuine article.

He traced his way back towards the entrance to the dungeon, a dour expression fixed on his face the entire time.

No new horrors arose to confront him, at least not until he reached the chamber where he and the others had destroyed the three large skeletal warriors.

"Zhakata!" A voice called out, and a moment later a bone broke free from the walls and hurled itself at Alexander.

Wolf Claw slid free from its sheath again and easily batted the projectile aside.

"I don't have time to deal with you right now." Alexander growled.

"Zhakata!" The animator remained undeterred and managed to toss another large bone at the target of its ire.

It met the same fate as the first, and Alexander ended up deflecting several more primitive projectiles as he crossed the room, but never bothered to actually go on the offensive.

The outraged cries of the animator echoed after him when he left, but since the huge skeletal warriors had been smashed, the animator seemed unable to find any truly suitable objects to imbue with its essence and continue the assault.

When Alexander left the building there was a haunted look in his single green eye.

He didn't even give his five companions a chance to ask any of their numerous questions before he announced the decision that he'd come to shortly after the monster had made its offer.

"Yagno Petrovna. If we're not going to die horribly, we need to get help from Yagno Petrovna." The silver haired man insisted.

"Well, not dying horribly is one of my favorite past times..." Callan Wright pointed out.

End Chapter.

AN: Clash Royal, visiting my brother's place to play boardgames, this chapter should not have taken as long to write as it did.

But I will not leave you guys hanging/this story in any kind of serious hiatus, I am going to drag myself over the finish line even if I only do a chapter a month, though I'll try and have them come out quicker than that….


	15. Chapter 15

Monster party Book

Monster Party Book Seven: And now I'm waiting for the big boom, it knows where I'm gonna be.

Chapter Fifteen: And now I'm waiting for the big boom, it knows where I'm gonna be. The big boom, I'm always getting closer to, the big boom, and it will catch up to me. The big boom...

G'Henna was a land at war. That was a given, it was hard to say who or what exactly it was at war with, but that it was at war was impossible to deny.

The air pressed hard upon everyone's eyes and ears, while their nostrils could not draw a single breath without detecting the strange static scent which foretold of a coming thunderstorm.

It was as if the already bleak desolation of G'Henna's deserts were now only a foretaste of the devastation that was sure to come.

Angry gray clouds gathered together, and yet not a single drop of rain or bolt of lighting fell. The wind grew stronger, but never to the point of reaching what could properly be called a storm. The weather itself now seemed to be hostage to some malevolent force that was keeping it perfectly on the cusp of catastrophe.

Great distances off, where once there had been serenely rolling fog banks, now rose countless towering stacks of human skulls. Each laughed in silent mockery at those they imprisoned behind their bony barrier. There would be no escape from G'Henna, the realm's entire population would end up suffering the wrath of the recently freed monster.

The worst part was the dreams though.

It was a 'dream' unlike any Alexander could recall having before. He had no body, no way of interacting with the world, no center of being. He simply floated, floated and watched as the monster's wrath unfolded.

There were mongrelmen camps dotted all across G'Henna's desserts, not as large as the one they'd been taken to, but each home to at least a hundred or so of the transformed wretches. A golden glow would spread across their eyes, and their bodies would be transformed in ways even more hideous and vile than anything Yagno Petrovna had ever achieved.

At first Alexander had assumed they'd simply been dark visions brought to light before his eyes by a product of guilt ridden mind, castigating him for yet again for having been defeated. Except that come the morning he'd also soon noticed a strangely haunted look in James Firecat's brown eyes.

It hadn't taken an especially long conversation to confirm that the young werecat and the silver haired man had both experienced the exact same foreboding dream. That in turned had opened the door to Cal and Devi admitting that they'd also shared a similar experience in their own sleep.

It seemed that only Mirri and Florence (one of whom did not dream at all, and the other whose mind worked in quite strange ways at times) had been spared that strange dream. Clearly since Alexander had refused to bow to monster's will, it had seen fit to torment him and his companions with visions of just what sort of havoc it was unleashing upon G'Henna.

The beast was raising an army of monsters, an army that grew stronger with every mongrelmen camp it overran. Would he begin transforming the outlying human settlements of G'Henna next, or would their occupants be simply slaughtered? Which outcome would be worse?

The visions didn't need to actually hint at the creature's goals for them to be crystal clear all the same, this huge army could have only one possible target in mind, Zhukar.

Once the creature had created a large enough army, it was going to march on Zhukar, and it would smash through anyone or anything that came between it and Yagno Petrovna. Alexander would have happily fed the priest straight into the beast's gullet, except that the creature itself had already declared that while Yagno might have instigated its rage, all of G'Henna must suffer for his actions.

So there was little choice but to press onward, and hope the sleepy eyed, fanatical, aged High Priest of Zhakata would prove a more capable ally one might expect.

Alexander didn't have much hope of that.

Still, they weren't the only ones who had managed to escape from the building which had contained that monster for so long. Someone else had managed to get away, and bring the "Eye of Zhakata" (if that was what the black stone was truly called) with them. Someone who had used magic to obscure their path and aid the speed of their flight. Someone who if they had any sense or grand desires at all must have taken the stone back to the center of all power and worship in G'Henna.

Everything pointed to Zhukar. Now all that had to be discovered was who, why the monster wanted that stone so baddy, and if it might possibly be used against him.

XXX XXX XXX

The city of Zhukar looked a great deal different than it had the first time the group had come to it.

Back then, the city had been a simple city in the desert, a welcome(ish) sight, but by no means unique. Now, now even the quarter crumbling walls of the city seemed a blessed oasis of sanity in a sea of chaos.

Not that it looked especially welcoming in the grand scheme of things though. Even from a long distance off the city seemed far too quiet. No smoke rose from the chimneys, no candles glowed in the windows. Indeed, under the darkening skies the land was darker still.

Then came sight of the cast off bundles of clothing, or some collection of minor trinkets. They were objects that had obviously been cast aside by people who were fleeing the city with all possible haste. Somehow the people of Zhukar already knew that a horrible fate awaited them and so many must have tried to escape.

It was too bad that there was nowhere for them to flee to, in fact by leaving the city's walls they had probably only hastened their fate. Most disconcerting of all was that the city's gates lay open, as if no one still possessed the strength of will to defend them.

Depression, glum acceptance, and blind despair seemed to be the most frequent responses to suffering among those who worshiped Zhakata, and now the entire city of Zhukar was gripped by a foreboding malaise.

As soon as the six were through the undefended gates Alexander started giving orders, hoping his firm commands could do something to drive back the feelings of abject hopelessness that hung about the city.

"First of all, like I've said a great many times before, we need to find the Eye of Zhakata. Barring that, we need to get information about who has it and where they're hiding out.

Cal, Devi, go to that library you talked about visiting beforehand. James, Mirri, go inspect the city of bridges, if there's going to be anyone left in this city, it'll be people who see a profit to be made in others misfortune. See if you can't convince them to tell us everything they know.

Florence, if you feel comfortable going some place on your own check out the abandoned breweries, that black market we were invited to, and the tunnels the Circle of Darkness used." The silver haired man insisted.

"Where are you going to go?" James asked, surprised that for once Alexander didn't plan to accompany the dryad.

"The High Temple of Zhakata. I'm going to try and shake some sense into Yagno Petrovna, and I want to do it alone." He insisted.

"Aren't you always protesting that bad things will happen to us if we split up?" The alchemist pointed out.

Alexander heaved a heavy sigh and nodded.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures." The silver haired man reflected.

Then he slowly and cautiously turned to face Florence Bastien.

"Alpha Female, do you think that you could do any good by accompanying me?" He asked the green skinned woman.

"Alpha Male, you are a hunter with no equal, but you can only hunt in one place at a time. This entire city must be searched, you're making the right choice." She told him, before gently resting a hand on his cheek for a few tender seconds.

"I've been making the 'right' choices ever since we came to G'Henna, and yet here we are..." He groaned into a still bare hand before heading off for the High Temple of Zhakata.

XXX XXX XXX

The temple of Zhakata's blunt facade resembled the prow of a breached galleon. Its windows had gone dark and the usual bustle of junior priests and clerks was completely absent. There weren't even any guards posted outside to bar Alexander's way. The main doors were ajar and gaping, one of them creaking loudly as it shifted on its hinges.

As he walked down hallways he had already trod once before, Alexander wished he'd be able to stop and deface each and every single one of the various portraits depicting Yagno Petrovna's past triumphs. Alas, such simple pleasures couldn't even be considered until the danger encroaching upon Zhukar had been dealt with. He searched his memory of the map they'd been given and headed in the direction of temple's private library, operating on something between a hunch and educated guess.

His ears soon picked up proof that he was on the right, detecting the sound of someone cursing loudly. As he drew closer he was able to determine that it wasn't just some random person cursing, it was someone whose voice was familiar to Alexander.

"Useless! All useless trash! The stone can force obedience but not loyalty, and only of the monster but not his minions!" The voice screamed in rage before there was the sound of something heavy being tossed on the ground.

The library's occupant hadn't bothered to close the door and so Alexander walked right in.

He found Madar standing among toppled shelves from which books and scrolls had first been pulled, then scattered torn across every inch of the floor.

The rebellious priest had a wild-eyed hunted looked about him, and the Eye of Zhakata hung on a string around his throat.

"Alexander?" He gasped in surprised.

"Hello again Madar, having a problem?" Alexander asked in an ominously jovial voice.

His tone was soft and gentle, but his single green eye never stopped focusing directly on the Eye of Zhakata.

"Alexander, lets be reasonable about this." Madar insisted as he took a slow cautious step backwards, not wanting to trip on the discarded parchment.

"Yes lets. Reasonable people should refer to one another by their proper names. So tell me Rega, what drove a reasonable man like you to do something as stupid as thinking you could play me for a fool?"

The priest took another step back and his face going pale white in surprise.

"What are you talking about?" He gasped in confusion.

"I'm not deaf and I'm not stupid. I heard the guards talking about how they had to make Rega, Yagno's spy master, aware of my presence. I'm perfectly well aware of the fact that I made quite a spectacle of myself going around the market, searching for liquor when it seems like every native of the city already knew there wasn't any to be found.

Then you arranged for an invitation to be delivered to my door to get me to that black market, as Rega arranged to have the place raided once I arrived, and as Madar arranged to make sure I was able to escape.

After that, you supplied me with the tools to break into the temple as, and as Rega used your influence to make sure that the place is as lightly guarded as possible while we were stealing that stone you now wear.

Then as the Son of Rust you make sure that you, as Madar were assigned to the expedition the Circle of Darkness sent out to free Zhakata the Provider. Not directly in charge of it of course, being in charge means you're responsible, that you'd be expected to keep an idiot like Bolsh from doing something stupid, or that you wouldn't be able to simply run away at a moment's notice if things started to go wrong.

Did you really think I wouldn't suspect anything when you bothered to directly sympathize with wolves, and even went so far as to talk about how your family's friends used to brew beer? Did you think I that wouldn't be able to notice that you were the one person in G'Henna who wasn't a raving religious zealot, the one person who seemed to be able to think for themselves?

Did you believe I'd never ponder why it was that no one could describe to me the face of either Rega or the Son of Rust? So when Madar vanished uncounted for, along with the Eye of Zhakata, it wasn't exactly hard to put it all together." Alexander insisted as he drew ever closer to the priest.

"I don't know what you're talking about! You don't have any proof!" He shot back.

"I don't have any proof right now, but I you'd be so kind as to come with me, I'm sure we can go get some fairly easily. All we need to do is go have a nice long talk with Mirri.

She's a vampire you know, so believe me, you'll only be all too willing to tell us this, that, and a few other details after a nice long conversation. Details like what names you like to be called, you know, the kind of things that friend tell each other, and people always want to be good friends with Mirri once they've talked to her long enough.

Those with strong wills normally break after around four minutes, absolute bastards can hold out for around six, and nobody has ever made it to ten." Alexander informed his conversation partner.

Madar who it seemed was really Rega threw back his head and laughed sorrowfully.

"At the end of the day there's no difference between us is there? Me with my inquisition, you with your pet vampire, we all have our own ways of getting what we want to know. We're just two wolves chewing over the same decrepit bone.

That's what I learned from being able to talk to Bill growing up. I didn't do anything special, and yet I was gifted with powers far greater than any other member of my family.

When I went away to Zhukar to join the priesthood, I could never quite convince myself to truly believe in Zhakata, no matter how hard I tried. Except, that it turned out not to matter in the slightest! It didn't matter if I prayed reverently to Zhakata, or simply mumbled the words, the power came exactly the same either way!

What does that make Zhakata but an all mighty idiot? What does that make Yagno but an even greater fool for following a god who rewards his faithful and heretics with the same measure of power? Power, power is the one truth of this world Alexander, it is the only reason I joined the priesthood after all, to gain power.

The only way this world makes any sense is if you assume that some people are simply born wolves with power, while other are born sheep without it. That's why we're alike Alexander, we were both born destined to be wolves, destined to be powerful.

Now that we find ourselves at odds with one another, of course you desire to use your power to take what you want from me. The wolves prey upon the sheep, that's all there is to this world. Religion is just a fancy way of convincing the sheep to willing bare their throats to you." Rega insisted, a strange sort of energy dancing in his eyes, as if he was delighted to finally be able to cast away his pretensions of being Madar.

Such was the strength of his convictions that for a moment Alexander was silent, the silver haired man even took a step back and removed his hand from Wolf Claw.

"So close, so very close Madar. But you're wrong about a few things. I might have been born a wolf, but I dreamed to be so much more than just another ordinary wolf. While you content yourself with simply hunting those weaker than yourself, I hunt the strong.

That is why I am Mac Tíre Cáiliúil, that is why I am the Legendary Wolf. As for wielding power against you… when you said you were Madar I had an arrangement with the Circle of Darkness.

I would wear the 'Eye of Zhakata' or whatever that stone really is, whenever it was not needed for some sacred ritual. Right now however, it is just sitting there on a string around your throat. Live up to the agreement and give it back to me." The silver haired man insisted.

Rega's hands slowly went to the onyx stone about his throat.

"No… no I won't. It is the only thing keeping me alive." His voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

"Well then, it seems you're either breaking your oath to me as a member of the Circle of Darkness, or just out and out stealing from me. Either way, I'd say I'm justified in taking the stone back." Alexander insisted, his fingers once again began to dance along Wolf Claw's length.

"This, this is all a game to you! You pathetically look for justifications because you won't admit to the truth! You may be strong enough to take it from me, but do not delude yourself to believing that makes you any more right!" Rega spluttered.

Alexander's smile grew wider and more predator as he began to approach the duplicitous priest.

"Is that what you think I'm doing Rega? Playing fancy word games to justify the fact that right now there's nothing I'd rather do than grind your face beneath my boots? You really did do an excellent job spying on me!

Maybe you're right, maybe this world really is insane, and power is the only thing that matters. While I am Alpha though, while I am most powerful, laws will fucking matter! If the only way that at the world makes sense is for us to force it to, I will place my boot upon the neck of the world itself to bring it to heel!" The silver haired man snarled.

"What laws though? Not the laws of G'Henna with how you've been eating, with the way you gave away food to that starving woman, with the way you showed kindness rather than derision to a mongrelman.

You use your power to shatter laws you disagree with and enforce whatever new ones you desire. Your 'laws' are nothing but your wolfish whims masquerading in the sheepskin of false civility!

Two wolves chewing at the same ragged bone Alexander, but at least I'm honest about it, I don't feel the need to pretend I'm helping anyone but myself." Rega scoffed mockingly as he edged towards the stairs behind him.

"You want to see honesty from me Rega? You want to see what happens when I strip away the pretension and show the world who and what I really am? Wish fucking granted." As Alexander spoke, he took his hands from Wolf Claw and instead used them to shift his eye-patch from his right eye to his left.

With Alexander's lupine right eye revealed yet again, his body began to transform. Soon instead of a man Rega found himself staring down a large snarling silver wolf.

"You stole from me, give it back or I'll take it!" The wolf demanded, its voice somehow all too human.

Rega reached out, grabbed a nearby bookcase, and (probably with the aid of some kind of magic) sent it toppling towards the wolf before turning to flee.

Alexander managed to leap out of the bookcases' way, and took off racing on all fours, his claws ripping up the copies of Zhakata's holy texts which covered the floor as he raced after the priest. Rega gestured wildly behind him as magical flames blossomed forth from his fingers.

The weren't aimed in the slightest, they didn't need to be. Not when the library was full of wooden bookshelves and paper parchment, wherever the mystical sparks landed they all but instantly caught and began to spread.

Tiny balls of flame began to expand and spread, turning the library into an inferno. From that inferno burst forth an undeterred silver blur as Alexander continued his chase.

"You think this even matters? The stone can't control Malistroi, not really! He's the one who will be controlling us all soon, he has the most power and he's already reshaping G'Henna to suit his whims! If you had any wisdom you'd have returned to whatever strange lands you came from!" Rega insisted as he shot up the stairs.

"If you had any wisdom you wouldn't waste your breath on monologues while trying to outrun a wolf!" Alexander countered, though truth be told Rega was starting to pull away from him.

Wolves simply weren't meant for climbing stairs, and even with human intelligence combined with previous practice didn't make it a sooth process. Not that Alexander was especially worried about loosing his quarry, he had Rega's scent fresh in his nostrils, wherever the priest tried to flee or hide, Alexander would know.

"Do you really think that you'll be able to stop him? Do you really think that you're powerful enough to defeat that demon?" Rega huffed, completely ignoring Alexander's advice.

"I'll have a better shot at it once I get back the jewel you stole from me!" Alexander snarled back.

"The jewel that you stole from this temple in the first place!" Rega countered.

"The jewel that you told me about and insisted I steal!" Alexander quickly reminded him.

"So am I to guess it isn't really stealing if somebody else comes up with the idea then?" Rega mocked the pursuing wolf.

"The stone, or at least any power it holds, originally belonged to Malistroi himself, but I don't see you in any great hurry to return it to him. Besides, you want to know what really makes us different Rega?" Alexander offered as the priest rushed past another open door, preferring to stick to the stairs rather than risk a level hallway where Alexander's quadrupedal body would have the advantage.

"The fact that you're more powerful than me at the moment!" Rega insisted.

"The fact that I actually bother to plan ahead!" Alexander declared with considerable satisfaction as Rega only now seemed to realize that like all good things, the stairs would eventually have to come to an end.

In this case, Alexander had chased him to a tower built for meditation and prayer inside the temple, one which had only a single door leading in or out. The only other possible exit was a large window which looked out over the city and offered only a long plunge to the ground below.

Rega fled into it and slammed its wooden door shut behind him.

A moment later he was bowled over as Alexander's smashed through the door like a furry battering ram and pinned Rega beneath his paws.

"Go ahead, do it, kill me." Rega hissed defiantly.

Alexander lowered his head and bit down.

His jaws effortlessly severed the string that Rega had used to tie the Eye of Zhakata about his throat. Then with a quick toss of his neck Alexander sent the stone sailing upwards, shook his head and twisted (and stuck out his tongue slightly) to push the eye-patch over his right eye again, and reverted back to his human form in time to catch the stone before it could even start to fall.

"No. I'm too good a hunter with too little time right now. I'd rather just take back what is 'mine' and let Yagno deal with you, assuming the demon you let loose on this land doesn't do it first."

"You're insane! Yagno will never believe anything an outsider has to say against me!" Rega fumed, refusing to rise to his feet as if silently taunting Alexander to murder him.

"In his hour of need as his entire realm is assaulted by a demonic army, I wonder who Yagno would be more willing to trust, his closest adviser who lost track of the demon's one weakness, or the kindly stranger who returned it to him?

Because I'm willing to bet you never actually told Yagno that you got the stone back from the Circle of Darkness. After all, if you had, he'd have taken it from you to keep an even closer eye on it. Maybe he's even already started to think that the only way anyone could have stolen the Eye was if they had your help?" Alexander pondered aloud with a sardonic smile.

"You really think you can convince him to throw me to my own inquisition? Yagno may be the High Priest of Zhakata, but he was always too cowardly to impose his will unless he actually felt Zhakata desired it. I am the most powerful man in Zhukar! No one has more servants to call upon, no one is owed more favors or more feared!" Rega raved.

"Oh yes I'm sure you have a huge army at your beck and call. That's why I managed to cornered you up here all alone. You may have been able to talk with Bill, but you never understood him. There's a difference between those who serve out of loyalty and those who do it out of fear.

Maybe if you commanded any of the former you wouldn't have needed to be searching that library on your own. Maybe if you hadn't been so obsessed with masks, deceptions, and hiding who you really are, you might have been able to convince rather than mislead people into obeying you. Maybe if you begged me to save your life you'll survive the next ten seconds." Alexander concluded abruptly.

Rega was now starting to stand back up and he fixed the silver haired man with a withering stare.

"Hah! You've already proven that you're too cowardly to do the job yourself, I'll never..." Rega began but indeed he never got a chance to finish.

A massive brutish arm looking like belonged to some sort of misshapen orangutan with reddish brown fur seized Rega by the throat.

The beast (which had stealthily climbed in through the window while priest and adventurer had been arguing) squeezed and Rega's throat snapped like a matchstick.

"He can't say I didn't try to warn him..." Alexander muttered (primarily because Rega would never able to say anything ever again) before Wolf Claw slid free form his sheath and he charged the oversized beast which was obviously one of the demon's creations.

XXX XXX XXX

The door to the most important room in all of Zhukar (and thus probably G'Henna, now that the demon was no longer restricted to a particular room) was neither fancy nor especially strong looking, (it was really nothing but a simple wooden door) it wasn't trapped, in fact wasn't even locked.

Alexander gave the knob a soft jiggle and when he met no resistance pushed the door open. Inside he found a small suite of rooms lit by a few candles. At the far end of the room a man in red robes knelt before a devotional. His head was bent in thought while a hood lay on the floor next to him.

"This is our third meeting High Priest Petrovna. At least it should be more honest than our first two..." Alexander called out to him.

Zhakata's High Priest slowly stood, re-donning his ornate hood and adjusting it before he spoke.

"You, you were the 'priest' who spoke of Zhakata having the face of a wolf. What a 'splendid' struggle you have brought to my land, for now I know you as the outsider you truly are. Did you honestly believe that you could do any good by freeing a creature you could not hope to control?" He demanded archly.

"Lets be perfectly clear, freeing the demon was never my intention. That said, he wouldn't have even been there for me to free if you had just killed him back when he was first defeated. After all, it was you who defeated and sealed him away wasn't it? Zhakata has never had any other high priests." Alexander countered.

Yagno's face never exactly full of color to begin with now seemed even paler.

"The demon Malistroi is a creature of incredible power, of boundless evil. Even with all the strength of Zhakata at my fingertips I could neither unmake his essence or cast it back where it had first come from. So I took precautions to ensure he would cause no harm to the people of G'Henna.

Precautions that stood for decades until your arrival!" Yagno proclaimed, his voice a strange mix of enraged and hopelessly despondent.

"Malistroi was freed by Rega, who was also posing as Madar, a low level member of the Circle of Darkness. He was plotting to betray you and take over G'Henna. He was the one who overestimated his ability to control Malistroi not me." Alexander clarified.

Yagno took a step back his heavily lidded eyelids closing completely as he blinked in shock.

"Bah! You fool, of course I knew that Rega was posing as Madar! I came up with the idea, to have him gather together all the malcontents and heretics in G'Henna to one single cause so that they could be more easily dealt with!" Yagno insisted.

"If Rega was really loyal to you and not to himself, why did he help me steal the 'Eye of Zhakata' or whatever that fancy black stone is called? As an outlander I never even would have known it existed, let alone where to find it, or how to get my hands on priestly robes to infiltrate the temple if he hadn't helped me." Alexander probed.

The priest's brow furrowed still further as he could find no proper answer for such a question.

Slowly Yagno's blue eyes turned to his room's single window and the ominous darkness that gathered outside it.

"While we squabble Malistroi grows ever stronger. For there to be a proper accounting between us, the demon must be dealt with first." The Zhakata's High Priest decided.

Alexander considered that particular pragmatic decision an entirely unexpected (if very welcome) surprise coming from G'Henna's darklord. Clearly as the saying went, the concept of being hanged in the morning had a wonderful way of helping a man's mind concentrate on what actually mattered.

"We really should kill him for good this time. To seal him away is to admit we fear his power." The silver haired man suggested.

"You should fear his power. To destroy him completely would take an act of direct divine intervention. Even sealing him away taxed me to my utmost, and I was a younger man the first time we did battle. To further compound the issue I faced him when Zhakata waxed in power, but now he seems to have all but abandoned me.

If even that was not dire enough, originally I faced him alone in single combat, but if what I have been told by my spies is true, today an entire army of monsters now bows before him in supplication." Yagno warned.

Alexander decided it would be a bad idea for to point out that the reason Malistroi had first been so easily freed, and secondly been able to raise an army, could both be directly tied to the large number of mongrelmen, ever single one of which who Yagno himself had directly created and de facto exiled.

While it might have been satisfying to further prove that like every darklord Yagno Petrovna seemed to be the ultimate architect of his own undoing, the silver haired man had a tenuous alliance to construct. If he managed to ensure that Yagno didn't try to plant a knife in his back or sick the inquisition on him until a few minutes after Malistroi was defeated, he'd consider it an amazing accomplishment.

"Would you feel any better about your odds of defeating Malistroi if you had this..." Alexander prompted and slowly withdrew the stone he'd taken back from Rega from a pant's pocket.

He had decided to forgo openly wearing openly it in case the sight of it prompted Yagno to fire of spells first and ask question later.

The priests eyes now shot fully open, making him look all the more astounded for their normally half lidded look.

"Malistroi's soul stone!" The priest proclaimed with excited joy.

"What… what exactly is it?" Alexander couldn't help but ask.

He'd traveled far and wide, and he'd carried this particular stone for quite a while (not that he was going to admit such to Yagno) but he still had no idea what it was, besides that it had some magical resonance with the door Malistroi had been sealed behind.

"This onyx stone was the foremost component of the spell I used with summoned Malistroi to G'Henna. It anchors him to this land, and whoever has it can exert some minor power over him, wielded wisely it can indeed be his undoing!" Yagno proclaimed happily.

"You summoned Malistroi?" Alexander couldn't help but add a moment later.

He'd suspected of course, no one would ever go broke betting steady increments of their income that something wrong with a domain could be easily traced back to its darklord. Still, he suspected Yagno would react poorly if Alexander openly advanced a theory that Yagno Petrovna was such a horrible person that he should have slit his own throat in praise of Zhakata rather than his niece's several decades ago.

That didn't mean it wasn't a perfectly good theory, just one which would have to remain unspoken for the moment.

"Decades ago G'Henna was struck by strange shocks and quakes. It seemed as though the entire country itself might be shaken to pieces, and when they finally abated every land beyond our borders was… gone.

Where once there was Falkovnia to the west, Tempest to the east, Darkon to the north and Dorvinia to the south, now there was nothing. Nothing but strange mist in all directions.

People were horrified of the changes, and so as the high priest of Zhakata I sought to petition the Beast God to come and explain why our land had been pulled free from the Core! I did so with the help of the wisest sage in the land, intending to summon Zhakata himself to G'Henna so that he might speak to his people and reassure them that we had not displeased him, or at the very least how his anger might be set right.

The sage betrayed me, and misdirected my mystical energies so that instead of reaching into the realm celestial above, they plunged into the hellish abyss infernal below. From those unspeakable pits emerged the fiend Malistroi. It was by my hand, but never by my intention, that Malistroi was brought to G'Henna." The High Priest insisted.

Conviction radiated from his voice in a way that it never quite during their two previous encounters. Alexander still didn't believe Yagno, not to completely, expecting a darklord to tell you the whole unvarnished truth was like expecting a wasp not to sting.

Still Yagno probably was probably correct in the roughest outline of events, while he might be a crazed fanatic of Zhakata, he didn't seem quite crazy enough to have intentionally summoned a horrible monster who fed on misery and suffering. Well, not unless it had managed to deceive him into believing it was an angel or aspect of Zhakata first…

"So if you have this stone, you'd have a chance against Malistroi?" Alexander pressed.

"Yes, yes! This stone allowed me to defeat him one, it could do so again! It must be wielded carefully however, it is no crude cudgel, but rather a small subtle poisoned knife. It can not be used to match Malistroi power for power, but rather undermine him at exactly the right moment.

You see, this stone was originally part of Zhakata's high altar, and the power of sympathetic magic still flows through it. The power of the high altar when energized with the faithful of Zhakata, channeled through the soul stone, and wielded against Malistroi alone, it is the one thing that could possibly defeat him.

Yet all the components must be exactly so.. with Malistroi's monstrous army sweeping all before them how can Zhakata's worshiper's be properly gathered?" Yagno concluded dourly.

"How long do you think we have before Malistroi and his army will attack the city?" The silver haired inquired.

Yagno was more familiar with demon and would hopefully know something of his habits.

Indeed priest slowly turned his attention back towards the window he had looked out before.

"The new moon is an undesirable symbol in G'Henna. It offers aid to dark magic cast with the intent of bringing harm to another. If Malistroi does not know that already, one of his followers will have surely told him.

If he wishes to plunge all of G'Henna into his darkness, wishes to break the people so completely they will never rise against him, that is when he will attack. Under the light of the new moon, which is only six hours from rising at most..." Yagno warned.

That was not a lot of time by any stretch of the imagination. Still, it was better than hearing that the demon and his army were already at work battering down the city's gates.

"Would one of your sermons preformed before the high alter of Zhakata and all those who remain faithful in the city grant you the power to properly oppose Malistroi?" Alexander suggested.

"It might, it might..." Yagno agreed slowly.

"Take this and prepare your sermon. I'll make sure you have an audience." Alexander insisted and tossed Malistroi's soul stone to Yagno.

This was going to end badly, he was sure of it.

There was no "happy" ending when you plan involved deliberately handing over a mystical artifact to a darklord. Alas it was the "least horrible" option that he could think of at the moment, and Malistroi's arrival did not give him an abundance of time to think of better possible ideas.

At least he could draw some minor comfort from the fact that Yagno had possessed the gem for decades before Alexander and his group had arrived but it hadn't seemed to particularly aid him oppressing G'Henna's people. Maybe it really was only useful in relation to Malistroi, but Alexander wasn't quite ready to believe that.

"If the sun rises on G'Henna tomorrow you will be rewarded! You will..." Yagno began but Alexander didn't bother to hear the end of it.

He didn't particularly expect Yagno to live up to any promises that he made (assuming they actually did live through the night) and if he couldn't have the satisfaction of punching him in the face, at least he could slam a door on it in mid rant.

It wasn't as good, but once again it was the "least bad" option he had available at the moment.

The people of Zhukar needed to be saved, Malistroi needed to be slain, and by hook or by crook Alexander Diamondclaw would do both.

End Chapter.

AN: Unlike Book three where we more or less saw Cal's entire though process laid out before us repeatedly in this book I felt that things could proceed just fine if I only hid some of the twists and turns from the reader, but not necessarily from the characters. Hopefully you guys don't find that too much of a narrative cheat.

Though he may end up helping the villain's plans along at times (book one, book six, this book) Alexander is still quite smart and it typically happens because the villain/darklord possesses amazing powers or enough time to plan that he can weave a plan so interact that even he/one member of his group couldn't see the threads of it until it was too late.

Madar/Rega is not as smart as he thinks he is, and Alexander never stopped being suspicious of him, so when he vanished in the chaos of Malistroi being set loose, Alex start putting some of the past events together and came to some conclusions.

Also yeah Clash Royal delayed this chapter, though really it was just me needing to knuckle down and work on these things during the weekends, if I can force myself to do that they don't take THAT long to get proofread.

I'm going to skip the scenes of the group gathering together the faithful of Zhakata from the city because there's nothing super interesting that will happen then, and it will let me write the next chapter as the "final" chapter of the story (to be followed by Epilogue and a full chapter of story wide commentary as always) which I plan to have up in just a week or two so I don't leave you all in suspense for super long.

Hopefully the mysteries to be revealed will be worth it!


	16. Chapter 16

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Final Chapter: Wake the white wolf at the dawn of war, the end of the age is a commin' now!

The new moon was in ascension over the city of Zhukar. A wind so blew through the city, its gusts so chill that each felt like having ones flesh pierced by countless frozen needles. It assaulted commoner and priest alike as all of the city's remaining faithful gathered around the High Temple of Zhakata.

Burning torches and minor magical barriers against the elements did little to keep out the bone biting cold that was washing across the city. Even Alexander Diamondclaw felt a shiver go up his spine as he finally began to approach the High Altar, one last small group of desperate worshipers in his wake.

He was the last of his companions to the arrive, the other five were already atop the alter alongside Yagno. Joining the High Priest of Zhakata were seven of his lesser holy men, who were busy chanting and swinging smoking censors as they walked around the altar's edges.

Hundreds of people lay on their knees in desperate supplication before the altar, clinging desperately to a god who seemed ever more deaf to their please for salvation. As he began to ascend upwards Alexander could not look away from the high altar, a block of dark gray stone shot through with black veins, sharp-etched runes cut into its sides even as blood-gutters were carved into its top.

Worn leather straps were located at its four corners, fastened to iron stakes driven into the stone. At this distance it was all too obvious that the indeed Malistroi's soul stone had originally been crafted from a piece of this altar.

The cold was spreading with unnatural speed, and already the steps leading up to the top of the alter had become rimmed with frost, making Alexander glad that he could take his time about ascending.

The silver haired man exchanged pained glances with his companions. This, this was not how he had intended things to go when they'd arrived in G'Henna. This was not how he had intended things to go when he'd invited them to join his pack.

The worst part about it was these last few moments of relative peace and quite.

Malistroi saw no reason to rush his plans, he would be patient, he would allow his foes to stew in their own feelings of pathetic impotence. That grandiosity was either a mark of unmatched power or unmatched hubris, and all of Alexander's hopes for surviving to see another sunrise lay upon the later. despite his failure to seriously harm the demon in their prior confrontation.

If they were wrong, then come what may, none of Alexander Diamondclaw's five companions would be slain before he was. He would die in the grandest fashion he could imagine, fashioning a worthy grave from a pile of his slain enemies.

Defiance in the face of unjust tyranny, defiance in the face of those who claimed to be gods, defiance in the face of the impossible and invincible. Defiance. Alexander Diamondclaw was a wolf, he would die on his feet.

Protecting the citizens of Zhukar were scarcely two hundred of the remaining Swords of Zhakata, normal soldiers and guards who possessed the either the inner courage, blind devotion, or outright insanity to stand with weapons drawn against Malistroi's encroaching darkness. Whatever their faults, Alexander expected they'd be fine men to die fighting alongside.

As the wind continued to howl the darkness drew nearer, pressing against the flickering torchlight. This darkness was not simply the absent of light, but rather the a more mystical and far more terrible thing. In its depths it was just possible to make out a seething mass of terrible shapes, each wailing more horribly than the wind ever could. In that darkness pale fangs and talons flashed like tiny strokes of lighting, waiting to burst free and strike.

Alexander turned to his companions.

"If we survive this, you're getting all the money I make out of it." Alexander promised Callan Wright.

The Lamordian alchemist looked up from double checking the series of potions that he was wearing at his belt, ad offered Alexander a wan smile.

"Not dying and large sums of money? Boss you really do know how to motivate a guy!" He half joked before returning to preparing his weapons.

"Devi, I'm sorry that I can't do more to..." He began, but the elf abruptly cut him off.

"When I look out there, do you know what I see waiting? A swift death a the hands of monsters. I've already escaped my fears of a much slower death at the hands of much greater monsters. Why should I be afraid?" She declared with blunt certainty.

Seeing that she needed no more reassurance he turned his attention over to Mirri Catwarrior.

"Having been twisted by Malistroi's demonic powers I'm not sure if those things bleed 'proper' blood. If they do though… there's an entire tidal wave of blood rolling against us. It will either drag us down to suffocate, or we spill it all down to the very last drop. Last time I checked vampires don't suffocate." He insisted calmly.

"Vampires don't suffocate. We may drown in water but I've never heard of anyone crazy enough to try it. It'll be fun to find out what happens won't it Sir?" She insisted, drawing strength from her inner bloodlust.

How could she fear the foe before her if they were as bread to a hungry man?

James Firecat was next.

Alexander crouched to eliminate the difference between their heights as best he could, then gently laid a hand upon James' hat.

"You have a spirit that sparkles and glistens like a well shinned diamond, casting light into even the darkest corners. That includes my own soul, just to be clear." Alexander declared solemnly

A pair of brown eyes began to grow watery, but with tears of silent joy rather than fear or sadness.

Finally Alexander locked his single eye upon Florence Bastien.

"You spent how much of your life trying to make something worthwhile out of a mess like me? Did I ever actually live up to your expectations?" He asked in a forlornly empty tone.

Florence reached out one of her green gloved hands to take Alexander's chin before kissing him on the cheek.

"You surpassed them more frequently than you could possibly imagine." The dryad reassured him.

Alexander leaned in and kissed her back.

"Don't know why I'm surprised at that, you must have set them pretty low given how I used to act." He reflected with a mixture of self derision and amusement.

Having properly prepared each of his companions for the what was yet to come as best he could, Alexander returned his attention to the ritual that was beginning to unfold.

Yagno spread his arms wide, his robes flapping in the freezing winds that scoured the temple's roof.

"Hear me, ye faithful!" He shouted, his voice carrying over the howling winds.

"This is the hour of testing! Zhakata will judge us by how we stand against the dark. Are we not worthy?" He proclaimed to all those gathered before him.

"We are worthy!" The crowd screamed back, though it was hard to tell if the words were meant as a defiant bellow or a frightened plea.

"Then believe, with all your hearts! Pour your faith into me, defender of G'Henna, the chosen champion of Zhakata! Lend me your strength for Zhakata!" The High Priest insisted.

As he spoke the high altar began to grow more brightly, though it retained a sickly gray taint at its center.

As the first of Malistroi's malformed army emerged from the encroaching darkness, powerful beams of bright light erupted from the altar, streamed over its edge, and flowed out towards the horrific monsters, blasting them back into the darkness like streams of gushing water.

Around Yagno's neck Malistroi's soul stone began to glow a sickly green color, and its bearer's face began to contort as if the object was suddenly causing him immense pain. Yet he refused to allow such mundane concerns to interfere with his preaching.

"In our hour of need, Zhakata has provided aid! These outlanders have recovered the very life-essence of our enemy! With it the fiend will be expunged from our land should he dare to stand against me! That is why he only sends his pathetic mindless servants against us, he knows that our suffering for Zhakata had made us strong! Made us stronger than him and his misshapen rabble! The people of Zhukar will endure this storm!" Yagno insisted.

Despite his encouraging words and the show of power from the altar, Malistroi's horde was far from defeated. Another wave of monstrous creatures emerged from the cloud of inky darkness that pressed ever closer around Zhakata's high altar. For every one that a blast of energy pushed back, three more emerged equally ready for battle.

The talisman that Yagno was wearing began to glow with a strange ethereal light.

Even over the howling wind, the snap of leathery wings rang out with piercing volume. A piece of the black night sky itself fell to earth, revealing the grotesquely large shape of Malistroi who now had to be twenty feet tall if he was an inch!

"Fool of a priest! You remember me, I think." The fiend sneered, a terrible grin spreading across his monstrous face.

"You did not defeat me in our first battle monster, you will not defeat me today!" Yagno proclaimed, his voice having grown horse from preaching.

"Face me here if you dare you craven beast, face me as as I stand before the High Altar of Zhakata himself!" Yagno insisted, gripping Malistroi's soul stone tightly in his left hand.

"I will crush you and your pathetic delusions of a deity!" Malistroi roared back and began to flap his wings.

A golden glow surrounded him and his image seemed to flicker for a brief moment. There was a glint of golden light upon Yagno Petrovna's shoulders and a shadowy outline of Malistroi began to coalesce around him.

Then there was a snap like a thunderclap and the hazy outline vanished while the real Malistroi was hurled backwards into the impenetrable darkness.

There was a sound of cracking bricks as he evidently impacted against some unfortunate building, and then a great deal of cursing in some infernal tongue never meant for mortal ears or lips.

"A fobiddence spell? You only delay the inevitable Yagno. I will have you and all of G'Henna before the sun rises!" The demon insisted as her clambered back into the light, seemingly no worse for wear from his tumble.

He waved his hands, his tide of misshapen minions charged forward with Malistroi only a few paces behind them.

All those who had been brave enough to take up a weapon, be it out of loyalty to Zhakata or simply to their friends, family, or homeland braced themselves.

They fought with the desperate courage of men who had nowhere left to run, and a cause they were utterly willing to die for.

They fought with weapons that had been blessed by Yagno and his fellow priests before the battle, and so were able to take a terrible toll upon their attackers.

But it was a toll that Malistroi's servants were willing to pay. The monsters fought without ay hint of strategy or discipline, simply a huge mob of monsters charging forward, each one attacking as best its bizarre body would allow.

Slowly like cracks starting to form in a dam, monsters began to break through the Yagno's defenders. These beasts could have easily butchered the faithful of Zhakata who lacked the will or weapons to fight, but for the moment they thankfully seemed to have no desire for slaughter. Instead, much like their master, they desired only to do battle with Yagno Petrovna. Only when the death of Zhakata's High Priest mattered to them, for with his death who would dare to stand against Malistroi?

The mighty deamon's wings flapped again and he easily soared over the heads of all who stood between him and Yagno Petrovna. Defenders armed with crossbows fired, but their bolts seemed to find no purchase upon the deamon's infernal body, and even a round from Phoenix failed to noticeably harm Malistroi. He landed upon the temple's roof with an impact that shook the entire building, now less than an arm's reach (well less than one of his arm's reach) away from Yagno.

"Where is Zhakata now?" The demon growled as it spread wide its wings, casting Yagno Petrovna completely in darkness.

"Zhakata is with me!" The priest answered back defiantly.

He raised his hands as mystical energy churned throughout his entire body.

A wave of Malistroi's twisted creations began to clamber up the steps of the temple, eager to join their master in this final assault.

Callan Wright cast down bottles that smashed themselves upon the temple's stones and spread their insidious contents.

As horrific as Malistroi's creations were, they were still creatures of flesh and bone, and so vulnerable to all the minor maladies of such physical beings.

In this case, as their (frequently clawed) feet tread upon puddles of the alchemist's super slippery solution, they lost their balance and tumbled back down to the ground.

It almost would have been comical, if it didn't seem that were enough of the monsters to successfully build a ladder up to the high altar simply by climbing upon one another's backs.

Nor did all of Malistroi's servants travel on foot alone. Some of them had been remade with horrendous wings with which they could fly over such mundane difficulties as potions of grease.

Mirri and James met them in midair, the vampire leaping high into the night sky, before hurling the werecat in his most feline form towards another of the monsters.

Creatures of base instinct, the winged monster paid little attention to a cat (even a large cat) sized bundle of flesh and bone, simply raising up a hand to bat it away.

By the time that James was in reach however, he'd transformed to his hybrid form, and with near impossible adroitness manage to twist himself around in midair avoiding the blow, then wrapped his legs around the monster's outstretched arm.

Then he was upon the beast at close quarters, fighting as housecats always fought, with flashing fang and tearing claw, a whirlwind of needle sharp blades striking here, there, and everywhere.

He tore and scratched and bit and kicked at the monster, determined to kill it, even if he could only do so one piece at a time.

Another was snagged by Devi's flail, dragged from the air and smashed against the temple roof. The magic imbued into of the elf's weapon added extra mass behind the impact, crushing all life from the beast.

Florence Bastien raised her hands as she silently mouthed her own prayers to a force far more benign and far more receptive than Zhakata. Her fingers lengthened outwards into twisting vines that shot upwards to entangle still more of the flying creatures.

As for Alexander Diamondclaw himself, he was waiting for the moment when his contribution would matter most.

Having managed to conclude his self important declarations, Malistroi raised up an arm and a golden glow began to surround his body.

That was when Alexander slammed into the demon from behind, causing the beams of energy which left his hands a moment later to fly wildly of course into the darkening sky.

Yagno Petrovna's own mystical counter attack went unimpeded as bright white light leaped from the high altar to his hands, and then blasted itself into Malistroi's chest. The demon was thrown back a few paces, sections of its skin starting to smolder, somehow smelling yet more fowl than ever before.

"Together outlander!" Cried Yagno Petrovna decisively.

"Together, you crazy bastard…." Alexander muttered under his breath, then he drew Wolf Claw, attacked the monster from behind, trying to sever one of Malistroi's wings and keep him from flying away.

Alas the demon still possessed fearsome strength and speed, the wing Alexander targeted twisted at unnatural angles, extending itself outward straight into the silver haired man's stomach. Alexander was knocked clean off his seat and sent sailing across the temple roof.

Then as if knowing which of its two foes would be the easier to dispose of (or perhaps simply desiring to dispense with ancient grudges first before settling new ones) Malistroi focused himself completely upon Yagno Petrovna. He crawled across the roof of Zhakata's temple and with one tremendous hand managed to seize the aged priest.

"You can not kill me while I hold your soul stone!" Declared Yagno, one hand tightly clutching the glowing gem while the other prepared to summon yet more mystical energy.

"Then you will hold nothing." Decreed Malistroi before he struck.

He did it contemptuously, lashing out with only what would have been the pinky finger on a human hand. It was still more than enough, the wicked talon at the digit's end sliced cleanly through Yagno's left hand and the string he wore around his neck, yet somehow avoided ripping through his jugular in the process.

The priest's amputated appendage went flying to land with an ugly "SPLAT" against the high altar of Zhakata, and whatever magic Yagno had been about to channel died then and there, replaced by a scream of anguished pain.

Malistroi rose to his full height, the now one handed priest his helpless prisoner.

"There is no Zhakata! There is only I, Malistroi devourer of souls, and no false god shall deliver you from my grasp! Now, for daring to believe you could be my equal, your entire flock will observe as I grind your pathetic body into dust!" The demon declared triumphantly.

Alexander could have rushed to Yagno's help, tried to distract Malistroi, or injure his arms long enough or Yagno to slip free, but in his heart of hearts the silver haired man knew that it wouldn't make a difference.

Something more powerful than one aged priest of a half mad god would be needed to defeat Malistroi.

/This is my fight.\ His inner Wolf insisted.

/Not even you're strong enough.\ Alexander countered.

/Hah, and hah again! You still have no idea just how strong I am!\ Alexander Diamondclaw's inner Wolf insisted.

As he looked out upon the hopeless scene before him, he saw he golden glow, and saw a sparkle of light so bright that it had no color at all worthy of the name.

Saw how Zhakata's altar continued to radiate power, and so did a small bundle against the side of it.

Luckily Malistroi seemed to be in the mood to take his time crushing the life from Zhakata's High Priest, giving Alexander time to race over to altar.

He pried apart the clenched fingers of Yagno Petrovna's severed hand and took what they held for his own once again.

"Only the most clever will succeed by seizing the power of change for their own, however briefly it is theirs to command..." Alexander repeated the words that Marda had told him during her Tarokka reading.

If ever there was time to hope that the words of an elderly Vistana had been more than vague mysticism, now was exactly that time.

Looking down at the high altar of Zhakata, Alexander could see that the stone was imperfect, a section of it near the very center had been chipped away.

Chipped away in order to serve as Malistroi's soul stone, the gem he now held tightly in one hand.

The high altar radiated all the power that the remaining people of Zhukar had been able to gather through their faith, the soul stone still hummed with Malistroi's malign energy.

The high altar and the souls stone had been one single object once.

What if they were reunited?

Gazing down he noticed one particular part of the altar seemed to be glowing especially brightly, and Alexander placed the necklace firmly upon it, pressing a hand tightly against the altar.

Instantly energy began to flow into Alexander Diamondclaw, it was a tiny trickle at first, but with every passing moment the amount of pure raw power that surged into him began to increase.

/Yes, yes, yes, yes, give it to me!\ Alexander's inner Wolf cried with joy.

The power was too much for Alexander to control, too much for his body to contain.

His skin began to rupture, cracking like poorly made pottery, but instead of blood pouring out from those openings, silver light emerged. Alexander bent over double and silver light shot out of his ears as the world went utterly silent for him. Twin beams of silver light blasted forth from his eyes, smashing aside the black eye-patch that had been keeping his right eye hidden.

He turned his head toward the new moon hanging in the sky and tried to howl, but all that came out was more and more silver light.

The silver light was eating him alive from the inside out.

How many times before this had the Wolf broken his body so that it could be remade in his image?

Today, fueled by this immense power, now the Wolf planned to destroy him utterly so that it could be fully reborn.

/Make…. Make it count…. Protect them….\ Alexander pleaded with the Wolf.

His body shattered.

XXX XXX XXX

There was an explosion of silver light so great that it knocked Malistroi to the ground allowing an only slightly less stunned Yagno to crawl free, blood dripping from several rents in his vestments.

As the light abated there was now a second gigantic figure upon the top of the temple. It was a tremendous wolf, a monster larger than not just any man, but many small buildings! Too look closely upon the wolf was to have your eyes reel in discomfort, the mortal mind simply could not comprehend how even the mighty temple's roof had room for such a beast.

Instantly the remaining occupants of the city who had been watching the battle between their High Priest and the demon in hushed silence began to babble excitedly.

"Is that?"

"It must be Zhakata!"

"DON'T SAY THAT! WHAT IF IT ISN'T? DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE INQUISITION WOULD DO TO YOU?"

"Look I'm just saying Zhakata is supposed to be a great beast, clearly he has come before us in the aspect of the devourer!"

"What do you mean 'aspect' everyone knows Zhakata is only a devourer!"

"Stone him, he thinks that monster is Zhakata!"

"Look nobody is going to stone anybody until I say so, even if they do think that thing is ZhakatAAAAA!" This comment terminated abruptly as a mass of believers fell upon the poor lone inquisitor who had tried to instil some order, evidently feeling that he was being insufficiently pious.

Countless other theological debates were breaking out in between people as others simply fell to their knees and chanting "Zhakata! Zhakata!" over and over again in fearful supplication.

"Oh don't grovel! If there's one thing I can't stand it's people groveling." The wolf announced, its voice richly refined and utterly at odds with its savage appearance.

"Who disrupts my ascension?" Hissed Malistroi as he regained his senses and turned to face the wolf, all thoughts or worries concerning Yagno gone.

"Ascension Malistroi? This is bad comedy." The wolf replied, somehow managing to convey human condescension with only a lupine face (even if it was a very, very, VERY large one) to work with.

"Let us see how bravely you can stand when assaulted by your own worst fears!" Malistroi bellowed, and raised his hands.

Beams of rainbow light shot force from his palms, and washed across the huge wolf.

The wolf's body convulsed for a moment, and then it slammed a massive paw against the temple roof, before shaking itself back and forth. The strange coloration went flying in every direction as if the wolf was shaking off rain, the bizarre colors vanishing before they could strike anything else.

"Fear? While I am free, I fear NOTHING!

Just who the hell do you think I am? I am the monster of the river Ván! I am the famous wolf! I am the one who broke Leyding with a single shake of my head! I am the one who shattered Dromi! I AM THE ONE WHO IS NOT JUST CAPABLE, BUT FORETOLD TO DO THE IMPOSSIBLE! YOU WISH TO TALK TO ME OF FEAR? MY HOWL HORRIFIES THE GODS THEMSELVES!" The wolf boasted.

It then took in a breath so deep that a few people ended up being temporarily lifted up off the ground by the sheer suction force of his lungs, though luckily none of them were actually drawn into the wolf's mouth.

Then the wolf howled.

It was as if the world was ending.

First people's ears began to bleed, then their noses shortly followed suit, and a few even simply passed out.

The sheer force behind that sound combined with the onrush of air knocked Malistroi's feet out from under him and sent him crashing into a (hopefully deserted) house.

"You… you… you hurt me…." The demon gasped as indeed it seemed the impact had bent one of its mighty wings at entirely the wrong angle.

It could no longer unfurl properly, or even simply fold itself against the deamon's body.

"That's rather the point of fighting. Now get up and attack me! I've only broken a handful of your bones so far! Bring forth an army of your servants, blast me with foul magics, show me your true power! The evening is still so young…. Come on, hurry, hurry, hurry!" The wolf screamed at the demon.

In response Malistroi produced a bola and tossed it into the air, somehow the object managed to keep spinning and change directions several times over as if had a will of its own. That did it no good however as the wolf managed to knock it aside with a single paw swipe before closing on his downed foe.

Jaws like a castle portcullis slammed shut over the demon's chest, crushing bone and ripping away huge chunks of flesh.

"I can't… I can't heal." The winged demon gasped, its once powerful voice now a horrified whimper.

"My teeth and claws inflict wounds that not even the gods can undo!" The wolf proclaimed before picking the demon up in its teeth like a regular sized wolf might a rat.

It shook its head back and forth, its teeth inflicting even more grievous injury upon Malistroi's body, before tossing him into the side of yet another unfortunate building which was promptly smashed to ruin.

The wolf pursued his foe with a terrible determination, and before the demon could even try to stand up again the beast slammed into Malistroi, several tons of shining silver fur and bulging muscle. He didn't even bother to try and bring his gigantic jaws into the equation this time, he simply used his sheer bulk as a fury battering ram.

With one final paw swipe the wolf crushed Malistroi to death, the daemon's head popping free as the rest of his body was reduced to an unpleasantly colored stain upon ground.

"Another foe falls before my peerless might! Bask in my glorious majesty! Are there any other fools who dare challenge me?" The wolf called out.

In response a stone gargoyle that had been purely decorative only moments ago suddenly broke free from the roof and began to fly towards the huge wolf buzzing about it like a fly.

"Zhakata!" The gargoyle called out to the wolf.

"Oh, it is you again." The wolf noted more in irritation than anger, before casually releasing a "chuff" in the gargoyle's direction.

The blast of air which came from the wolf's nostrils somehow managed to erode the statue to dust in the blink of an eye, achieving in seconds what normal winds could do in over the course of countless years. As the gargoyle turned to dust a spectral was left behind dancing mockingly before the wolf.

"Zhakata!" The spectral form squeaked before giggling to itself.

The wolf just shook its head as if to ward off flees, and then exhaled a gentle gust, through its mouth. In the cold night air the wolf's breath was visible as a small white cloud, until it suddenly broke apart into a dozen ethereal wolves. They fell upon the spectral form and rent it limb from limb.

That minor irritant done away with, the wolf casually strode back to where it had originally appeared, and finally returned its attention to the mortals gathered before it.

"There. Now that all the distractions have been dealt with, the time has come to clarify a few matters. YAGNO COME OUT!" It decreed.

Up until those words the wolf's voice had carried itself to every ear in Zhukar no matter how far away, and yet it arrived in a tone no louder than an ordinary conversation.

Now the wolf truly raised its voice… and the affect made one wonder if it couldn't have shaken the entire temple to pieces without even needing to lift a paw.

The High Priest of Zhakata emerged from behind a small pile of rubble he had fled to after escaping the demon's grip and faced down the gigantic wolf.

The wolf spat on him.

His saliva washed across Yagno's body and the priest's flesh mended, and his missing hand regrew whole and healthy. The wolf's saliva flowed across the temple like a river, and dampened the bodies of the soldiers who had fought to defend the temple. All who were touched by it found their injuries mended, no matter how grievous they had been.

The magical substance even spread across the bodies of those who Malistroi had transformed into hideous monsters, all of whom had simply stood around in silent shock after their master's defeat. As the saliva engulfed them, it washed away the demon's taint, and though it left mongrelmen behind, and even a mongrelman was a more welcome sight than the creatures Malistroi had made!

That miracle accomplished, the wolf decided to get down to business.

"Do you know my name?" The wolf asked, its golden eyes skewering the fanatic where he stood.

"Zhakata...?" The darklord answered his voice a piteous gasp.

The wolf did not break into a rage and devour Yagno, nor did he slay him in some other gory fashion. Instead, it simply tilted its head slightly, looking more pitying than offended.

"You have chosen to depict Zhakata many different ways, but I as I must clearly remind you, they were all bipedal blends of man and beast. So now I am forced to ask you Yagno Petrovna, are you lying to me, or are you lying to yourself? Because either way, you are lying..." It announced disaprovingly.

There was only silence for a response until the wolf chose to speak again.

"My name is Fenrir, I am a god of wolves, a god of the hunt, a god of bloodshed, even at times a god of slaughter, but I am not a god of sadism! So with that in mind, let me make one thing crystal clear to you Yagno.

Those irrational wishes that draw you to your creed, those emotions you worship, on whose altar you burn the food that could feed an entire nation, that dark, incoherent passion within you, which you take as the voice of Zhakata, is nothing more than the corpse of your mind." Fenrir declared, his words alone almost seeming enough to crush the priest as thoroughly as his paws had the demon.

Yagno gazed into Fenrir's eyes, each of which seemed to be bigger around than the priest was tall.

"But... I have never heard the voice of Zhakata... not once..." Yagno whimpered.

The temple roof was suddenly filled with the sound of anti-silence. Normal silence is relaxing, and allows one to think clearly, anti-silence weighs as heavily upon the ears as loud noises, it makes one wish for something... anything... to break the oppressive sense of stillness.

"Not much of a high priest then are you?" Fenrir noted dismissively.

Yagno turned his eyes away, no longer able to bear up under the lupine's pitiless examination.

"On the other paw, I suppose one might argue that Zhakata isn't much of a god." Fenrir suggested, clearly feeling that Yagno had not quite suffered enough yet.

Sure enough, the High Priest looked like he had just been punched in the gut and then had a few burly men stomp his groin into the pavement. He was hunched over, his face pale as death, breath coming only in awkward wheezes.

"I exist Yagno. The people of G'Henna exist. Enough food to feed them exists!" As Fenrir spoke one of his great paws came down, not on the high priest himself but instead upon the high altar to Zhakata, smashing it to dust and ruble.

"As I mentioned before, I am a god of the hunt, so few things displease me more than seeing effort and success put towards gathering food cruelly rendered moot. I of course prefer the effort involved in tracking down prey, but I am a great enough god to have at least some warmth in my heart for those who exert the effort to grow grain or fruits. After all, if it were not for them, how would I be able to sample Aegir's fine creations?

Now tell me Yagno, which do you think is stronger, Zhakata's ephemeral protection, or my firm right paw?" The gigantic wolf lifted the same paw that had destroyed Zhakata's altar above the High Priest's head, its size great enough to cast Yagno's entire body in shadow.

Yagno Petrovna's fell to his knees, either out of reverence or because his legs could no longer stand the strain of supporting him any longer.

"Your paw..." He gasped like a drowning man sucking in a mouth full of water as he realizes he will never reach the surface, never be able to breath air again.

The paw in question withdrew.

"Very good. Now, is there anyone present who would doubt my divinity or my superiority to Zhakata? If so, please step forward..." Every one of the worshipers gathered at the temple pointedly stepped, wriggled, or otherwise retreated backwards quite shamelessly.

"I thought not. I suppose by this point some of you may be wondering why Zhakata did not try to rescue you in your hour of need. The answer is rather simple... I ate him." Anti-silence came back with a vengeance, and Fenrir took a moment to belch theatrically.

"Don't be so surprised, as I told his high priest, Zhakata wasn't much of a god. I on the other hand am a magnificent specimen of godhood, a truly divine example of divinity if you will pardon me for saying so. When all is said and done it... amuses me to take over some of Zhakata's duties. After all, if there are no rams or ewes left then it must falls upon wolves to sheppard the lambs less they starve in the future.

Speaking of sheep and the future, I suppose we should discuss the subject of how you all will be venerating me as your new god.

Let every kitchen have a statue of my glorious form in it. All meat that you come upon must be placed before my holy icon and cooked." The wolf insisted.

Fenrir's head swept back and forth scanning the crowd. Throughout the faces of every layperson present the divine lupine saw only two distinct expression, horror or sullen acceptance.

"In this manner, the rising smoke will carry the spirit, the essence, the truest nature if you will, of the meat upwards and be given unto me. You may then do with the meat's earthly shell whatever you wish." Fenrir paused again.

Once more there were only two expression gazing back at him from among the people of G'Henna, rapturous (almost orgasmic) delight, and the sort of stupefied stunned shock a man might wear if he was walking down the street, tripped, and fell into an unattended pile of platinum coins.

"Also you will mark tomorrow, the first day of your new god's reign, as a day to celebrate with feasting, merriment and moderate amounts of drunkenness. No bell ringing however! In fact, ringing bells before noon… make that ringing of bells for any spiritual reason is an abomination to me! It… it frightens away my prey!

So, from when the sun rises tomorrow to when it sets, let hunger be heresy, let starvation be sin, let fasting be forbidden, I have hunted, I have slain, I have devoured Zhakata the Devourer, and every one of my new subjects shall join in the feast!" Fenrir decreed, and the crowd below him now looked rapturously ready to simply fall over and depart for whatever afterlife he cared to offer them.

Joviality fled from the wolf's countenance as he turned to face a collection of men in red and orange who had been clustering around Yagno when his grand sermon had begun.

"Before such happy events can take place though, I do believe it would be best to clarify a few additional aspects of my doctrine. I am the Alpha Wolf and the Omega Wolf, and in my duties as the Alpha, I, and I alone, shall punish those who earn my ire.

If those betas who serve under me would seek enforce punishments or restrictions upon their packmates in my name, it is you, not they, who will truly feel my wrath. From what I understand of the things Zhakata was babbling about as I was consuming him, he was rather fond of something called an 'inquisition' correct? If I I am speaking to some members of such a group now, please bend bend over backwards and kick your own asses out my new temple.

You are one and all universally fired. If you have a problem with this idea I will be happy to see to it that you are fried instead.

As for you Yagno Petrovna..." Fenrir paused and gave a chortle of disdain.

"As the greatest servant of Zhakata you are in turn the greatest prize of my recent hunt. You have two choices, you may serve me faithfully, or join your master in my gullet." Fenrir declared, promptly draining whatever color had managed to work its way back into Yagno's features.

"It has, it has always been my greatest pleasure to live in the service of a god who has proved his worth by the protection he grants his followers." Yagno Petrovna insisted, abasing himself before Fenrir.

"You... you have… you have protected me... you have protected this city, you have protected all of G'Henna from the daemon Malistroi. I will serve you." He offered readily after a few false starts.

"Good. You shall be my alpha for all of G'Henna then, and as an alpha it shall be your task to do everything in your power to protect your packmates from danger. Every single one of them is to be protected, down to the lowliest omega, be it from the blades of invaders, or the inner pains of hunger.

Know this Yagno, A god as great as I does not bother with directly talking to his individual servants. I do it now only because the situation was so dire that I had no choice but to manifest myself. Once I depart, neither you, or any of my betas will be privileged to hear me speak again.

Though let one and all be warned, though my voice will be silent, if you earn my displeasure, you will know it instead through my teeth!

I am not long for this place, being on the mortal plane for so long is rather exhausting for a god, even one of my stature. Fear not, as I depart I will render unto you the human who is my Alpha for all the world. Some of you may know him as Alexander Diamondclaw. He shall be my voice. Unto him AND HIM ALONE for reasons I SHALL NOT NEED TO CLARIFY TO PITIFUL MORTALS SUCH AS YOURSELVES do I render the glory and the burden as acting as my fangs when I am not present.

Should any assume they as well might hold this sacred state... he will correct their error. In a show of your deference to me, you shall see to it that Alexander is given the finest of accommodations paid for out of my new temple's treasury. In fact, unto Alexander Diamondclaw, a very tall man with hair as silver as my fur, dressed in black pants, having a green left eye and an eye patch over his right, and who owns a very long sword...

I'm sorry to get bogged down in such minutia but in times like these it would not do at all for my pack to be lead astray by a false alpha and so I will leave no doubts in your hearts or minds of Alexander's nature and appearance.

Now then, where was I... ah yes, unto Alexander Diamondclaw, you will give all the mortal possessions of Zhakata. For just as I have won his spiritual domain by right of conquest so shall Alexander inherit that which belonged to him in this world. Now I must go, but let none present here today forget my unmatched strength!" Fenrir leaned back his neck and let loose with a howl that was loud enough insure the city's glass makers would have plenty of work in the days to come before vanishing in a flash of silver light as blinding as the one which had heralded his arrival.

Just as people were starting to regain their vision a voice called out to them, in a voice that while less awe inspiring and overwhelming than that of Fenrir still managed to capture the attention of all who have heard it.

"I am Alexander Diamondclaw, the Fang of Fenrir!" Declared a very tall man with hair as silver as Fenrir's fur, dressed in a black pants, who had one green left eye and an eye patch over his right and of course, owned a very long sword.

End Chapter

AN: First of all, if you didn't see this particular twist coming, don't blame me, I laid plenty of (well at least some) hints pointing toward it. Lets put aside the ones that were actually in this book since I'll discuss them during the book wrap up after the epilogue and instead focus on the even earlier ones.

Back in the very first book what did Alex say right after he broke free of Markov's restraints?

"You skimped on the avian saliva didn't you, I can tell..."

You know what's another word/phrase for avian saliva?

Bird spittle.

You know what bird spittle is? One of the six key (the other five being: the sound of a cat's footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, and the breath of a fish) ingredients of Gleipnir, the magical dwarf ribbon that binds Fenrir.

Or hey, have you noticed how whenever Alex takes off his eye patch/shifts it to cover his left eye, he's immune to magic (if you need an example look at how he suddenly regains use of his legs in chapter 11 of book 4)? Remember how in book four he also talked about how magical artifacts closely enough associated with a god were immune to magic that didn't relate to that particular god? Suddenly it is pretty obvious how he knew that rather esoteric fact isn't it?

You know that look we got inside Alex's head in Book Six when Gwydion tried to control him? How there was a wolf whose upper jaw touches the clouds while his bottom rests on the ground? Guess what famous mythological wolf that describes.

Also remember how since book five Alex has been using the title of Mac Tíre Cáiliúil? You know what that is roughly equivalent to if you swap around the languages? **Hróðvitnir, or Fame-Wolf one of Fenrir's many titles, based around the fact that he is, unquestionably the most famous wolf in his mythology.**

 **Or maybe you've been wondering how Alex is able to speak perfectly understandably in his hybrid or animal form unlike James, or any other lycanthrope? It's because he able to speak in a "proto-language" of "supernatural" the divine original language from which all mortal languages are derrived. Yes that sounds like a silly/impossible concept, but its an estalbished facet of D &D lore and Alexander's connection to Fenrir lets him speak it.**

Just to be clear, yes that is/was Fenrir. It was and has always been Fenrir in a much more concrete way than what James was dealing with back in Book 4 was Maahes. The Dark Powers have very clear rules about how gods aren't able to interfere with matters on Ravenloft… but Fenrir isn't actually a god, he's just a wolf.

A wolf that is big enough that he could crush the Tarrasque beneath his paws (or at least defeat it in one on one combat fairly easily), but still definitely a wolf and not a god. Nobody ever gets magical powers because they prayed to Fenrir after all. At "best", he's half god on his father's side, and that's a very sketchy sort of godhood by association when you get right down to it, since Loki was one of the great trolls rather than an Æsir himself (though D&D does give you magical powers if you pray to Loki).

Also, there is an entirely reasonable background for this sort of thing happening in Ravenloft, or at least all the individual pieces of it.

Piece one is that we're dealing with a "real life" god (well being of immense power since I just pointed out that Fenrir isn't really a god) from human mythology. Such things are sprinkled throughout Ravenloft, in particular Kali in Sri Raj and Ra in Har'Akir. I will admit there are no established places in Ravenloft that pay homage to Norse mythology, but they (the gods) of Norse mythology are actually one of the main pantheons covered by the D&D 3.5 Deities and Demigod's book. In short, crossing over Norse mythology and D&D is something that is no way unprecedented.

So lets talk about Alex's powers and how and why he's able to do what he's able to do. Once again this is firmly related to stuff already established in Ravenloft, at least have made an appearance in Ravenloft.

Once upon a time in Ravenloft there was a Darklord named Vecna who was a lich. You may be familiar with the fact that he lost his right hand and one of his eyes, and they will give some magical powers to anyone who was willing to chop off their own hand/dig out their own eye to put in Vecna's as a replacement.

Vecna eventually escaped from Ravenloft by becoming a god, and in the process of becoming a god his original body was left behind, sort of like caterpillar leaving a chrysalis once it has become a butterfly. Because he was a god now though, his original body still held traces of godlike power, and now every single bit of his body had become a magical artifact.

For example, if you tore out your incisors and replaced them with Vecna's, you would gain the ability to turn yourself into a vampire for two eight hour periods every month. So that is the sort of power you can get if you replace part of a mortal body with the remains of a body of what eventually became a god.

Alexander Diamondclaw is what you get if you replace parts of a normal body with pieces of what is actively immortal flesh. In this case, in the Monster Party version of the story Fenrir lost his right eye after being chained up (Odin had his ravens dig it out while mockingly commenting that he lost an eye to gain wisdom while Fenrir will loose one due to his lack of it, Odin can be a jerk like that), and said eye eventually wound up in Alexander's head through a complicated series of events that I promise I will explore in more detail later.

To sum up, yes, Alex literally has the eye of a creature that could frighten gods.

If you run enough raw power (and the adventure as written involves a character being capable of temporarily stealing Yagno Petrovna's powers!) through that particular divine organ, the results are… impressive to say the least.

Also, remember how back in chapter four I depicted that small shrine/temple to the wolf? Remember how it was fighting a "soldier" with one eye? You guys probably all that was the wolf fighting Alex in some sort of symbolic battle for control of his mind/body didn't you?

Well, I'll be blunt and admit that I pulled some authorial misdirection… because if I described the "soldier" in more detail, I would have had to point out how he had a beard, something Alex has never had. Because that wasn't a picture of Alex's internalized struggle with the wolf within him, that was a picture of Fenrir fighting/killing/eating Odin.

Oh, and if you noticed that Fenrir's approach to how he should be venerated/worshiped through food cooking is more or less the exact same one used by Offler the Crocodile god of Discworld, well its clearly a very effective system for divine worship!

Going to do something interesting/different now and rather than post the Epilogue, I'm first going to post the "Side Story" chapter that goes with story, you'll better understand why once it is posted.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope the reveal was worth the long delay!


	17. Chapter 17

Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!

Epilogue: Here's to going to bed not hungry, here's to changing the story, here's to bigger hearts and brighter days!

The sun rose over the city of Zhukar.

Quiet ruled throughout the streets, the city's countless bells remained still, silenced by decree of the realm's new god. Fenrir had decreed that there would be no bells rung, and so no bells were rung.

So great were the people's conviction that some of the largest and loudest of the bells that had once been rung in praise of Zhakata were already being taken down and melted into their base metals. While the city's former leader slept fitfully in the High Temple of Fenrir, the Wolf's mouthpiece had instead eventually decided (after being pestered by countless different proprietors vying for his patronage) to simply return to the exact same guesting house he had originally stayed at. Already many spoke of the astounding humility and compassion that the silver haired Alpha had shown in choosing to sleep among the city's people rather than holding himself aloof.

Countless numbers of those who had worried that they might never live to see another sunrise turned their eyes upwards in relief at their deliverance. Then many of them turned their eyes toward the city's great temple.

Already the building had been defaced even beyond the damage done to it in Malistroi's assault. Some fresh converts to the cause of the Chained Wolf had torn loose the large sculpture of a human finger bone which had proudly declared the structure's dedication to the beast god Zhakata.

Alas the convert's zeal had outstripped their knowledge and lacking a proper holy symbol to put in its place they simply painted the word "Fenrir" over and over in silver.

Still, out of pure reflex come the morning's light many people had gathered their food and in a silent procession headed to the temple.

At its gates they were turned away by very insistent guards whose new Alpha had explained to them at great detail what an unpleasant fate would await those who still clung to the heresy of Zhakata worship. A few people unable to convince the guards to take their food no matter how they persisted simply tossed it upon the ground and departed. A great many more returned back home still carrying that which Zhakata would have claimed.

As still more people rose from slumber the city slowly began to return to life. A city's worth of workshops faced no end of perspective business, be it rearing the damage Malistroi had done or producing icons of Fenrir.

These first icons were crude, no two exactly alike, but all depicted a powerful wolf with as much of a noble bearing as the craftsman could impart.

Still other citizens began to ponder how best to show their devotion to Fenrir, given that the ringing of bells was strictly forbidden.

As word of where the wolf god's silver haired Alpha had chosen to sleep slowly circulated it did not take them long to decide.

They had been given no prayers to recite, no official time or gathering, and so they made do with what little they had.

"FEN-RIR! FEN-RIR! FEN-RIR! FEN-RIR! FEN-RIR!" The crowd completely surrounding the Alpha's guesting house chanted their new god's name over and over again.

Alexander Diamondclaw thus gained all of about half an hour's sleep between when the peeling of the city's bells would have awakened him under Zhakata's dominion, and when the chanting of his new packmates did it today.

None the less, the silver haired man awoke with a smile on his lips, as his ears drank in the cries of his adoring public.

"FEN-RIR! FEN-RIR! FEN-RIR! FEN-RIR! FEN-RIR!" The words came again and again and again, as if the chanters intended to continue until they collapsed in utter and complete exhaustion.

"You're enjoying this too much." Florence Bastien promptly concluded.

"No, I think I'm enjoying this exactly the right amount." Alexander insisted.

Then after taking a moment to put on an eye-patch, he practically skipped down the stairs (still naked from the waist up) to face his followers.

"FEN-RIR! ALEXANDER! FEN-RIR! ALEXANDER! FEN-RIR! ALEXANDER! FEN-RIR! ALEXANDER! FEN-RIR!" The crowd bellowed, their voices rising to a fever pitch at the sight of their Alpha.

"People of Zhukar the Chained Wolf has granted me a vision last night!" Alexander proclaimed raising his hands dramatically.

Instantly those parts of the crowd that could hear him fell silent, and its more outlying elements followed suit shortly after.

"In this dream, I saw the great wolf's battle with Zhakata! It was a struggle even greater than that against the demon Malistroi! I saw how as Fenrir seized the beast god's throat and crushed the life from it, a great wave rippled outwards! In its wake, every single statue of Zhakata crumbled unto dust! Then I realized, this was not a vision, but an order from the Chained Wolf to his pack! Let not one single statue of Zhakata remain standing within the walls of this city! Let every icon of the dead god be ground be smashed to rubble! Death to the statues of the dead god!" Alexander commanded.

"Death to the statues of the dead god!" The crowd chanted back at him.

"Death to the statues of the dead god!" The words rippled outward, and within an hour there would not be a single ear within the city that had not heard those words.

The crowd then began to disperse, intending to arm themselves with sledgehammers, picks, or any other suitable tools with which they could prove their devotion to Fenrir's cause.

"You know, gods tend to get sort of short shrift back home, but BALL LIGHTING I've never seen anything like that!" Callan Wright couldn't help but admit.

The alchemist hadn't wanted to miss the show (not that he would have been able to avoid overhearing Alexander's words even if he'd stayed in his room) and so had quickly positioned himself just out of sight behind the guesting house's door.

"Alex, since Fenrir worship is going to be the new law of the land, can you make sure that nobody ends up destroying that statue of Bastet we found? She's sort of a bipedal 'beast' after all and I wouldn't want anyone to get confused. In fact do you think you could tell some people to shine it up a little? Maybe even give it a fresh coat of paint?" James Firecat suggested (popping up behind the Lamordian) timidly.

"This is an important matter that requires great consideration, Devi, set up the aura of silence." Alexander, insisted, even though the elf had yet to show her presence.

Sure enough though (she'd joined Cal in heading downstairs) Devi stepped out behind the door as well and produced a rune covered lantern from her bag of holding, lit its wick, and placed it upon the ground.

Now secure that the magic would prevent any but those standing within a few feet of the lantern from hearing his words Alexander answered.

"I'll have them build two new statues of Bastet! Then I'll demand three of Kali! After that I'll order them to create the grandest clock the Core has ever seen! Though of course Fenrir's statues will always be the biggest and most numerous." He declared triumphantly, his exuberant hand gestures perhaps reducing how much use the silencing lantern would be.

"All hail Alpha Alexander Diamondclaw, long may he reign, may he sire many pups!" Praised Mirri Catwarrior as she also popped her head out from behind the (quite crowded) door.

"Good to know all this new found political and theological power isn't going to your head Boss." Cal pointed out sarcastically.

"What's the point of having power if you aren't going to use it? If these people are going to throw themselves at the feet of whatever holy man can put on the best show for them, well then it might as well be me. Yagno Petrovna got to boss around the entire country for decades in the name of Zhakata. Now it's my turn to do so in the name of Fenrir!" The silver haired man insisted with great relish.

"You know, a different man might think that the people of Zhukar deserve a chance to decide their own fate, rather than just trading one tyrant for another." The dryad suggested.

There was a long pause.

Then Alexander, Cal, Devi, and Mirri broke into laughter.

"When the people of G'Henna were given a chance to choose their fate, they decided to worship Yagno Petrovna as a holy man and follow a religion that embraced mass suicide by starvation. If a nation is so stupid that it needs someone's foot on their throat to remind them that eating is an important part of life, it should consider itself lucky to have me for its tyrant." Alexander insisted.

"Isn't tyranny typically a bad thing though?" James couldn't help but ask.

"Isn't Jacqueline Renier the tyrant of Richemulot?" Alexander countered.

"Well she's the Grande Dame, its different..." The young werecat insisted.

Though exactly how it was different beyond titles was a concept he had trouble articulating.

Alexander nodded sagely at James' silent confusion, and then heaved a sigh of contentment.

"Look, I realize that this isn't exactly a situation that's ideal for keeping my ego in check. That said, do any of you really think I can do a worse job ruling G'Henna than Yagno Petrovna did? Because if you do, I'll go take a long walk into a fog bank and we'll see where the Mists feel like sending me." The silver haired man offered sincerely.

"You know what's worse than spilling blood? Not even bothering to drink it." Mirri declared in a surprisingly apt metaphor.

"So the plan is that you're going to be the benevolent kind of tyrant then? I mean, Jacqueline's done loads of good for Richemulot after all..." James added his own somewhat timid support.

"Boss, you're the Boss, you're always the Boss, the only thing that has changed is now everyone else is smart enough to realize it." Cal as ever failed to shy away from stating the obvious.

"The weak are ever at the mercy of the strong. Continue to show your customary mercy." Devi decided.

"Whatever power you wield, do not rule G'Henna as a human tyrant. Rule it as the Alpha Wolf." Florence insisted.

"Five for five! Let none, who used to follow the dead god Zhakata, dare oppose Alexander Diamondclaw the Fang of Fenrir!" The silver haired man proudly proclaimed with a triumphant fist pump.

This deep conversation dealt with, Devi extinguished the lantern dispelling its magic.

Then Alexander cupped a hand to his mouth and let loose with a loud bellow.

"Who among you wish to serve Fenrir?" He cried out to the city at large.

Less than a minute later the Fang of Fenrir was surrounded by many of his new supplicants.

"How may we serve the Chained Wolf?" One of them pleaded eagerly.

"I go to my new High Temple, and I need an appropriate entourage." Alexander explained.

"Boss, is this a pitchforks and torches kind of mob?" Cal inquired, reaching an arm towards Devi's bag of holding.

"No, it's a friendly mob." Alexander insisted.

Then he tilted his head to the side slightly, a little surprised at the sudden crestfallen look on the blond haired man's face.

"You look more than a little disappointed..." He couldn't help but note.

"Look, I'm a Lamordian Alchemist. Do you really think that I'm going to get another chance to be part of a mob waving pitchforks and torches instead of having to run from one?" He admitted, kicking forlornly at the dust.

"Change of plans, Devi, pitchforks and torches for everyone! Just make sure to wave them in a friendly way." Alexander decided.

What was the point of having power if you didn't use it to help your friends?

XXX XXX XXX

Thus, torches and pitchforks were in waved in as friendly a manner as possible.

The mob armed with torches and pitchforks being the standard unit of civil outrage all across the Core (and even to places beyond the Core like Zhakata) the former Sword's of Zhakata quickly threw wide the temple gates before the Fang of Fenrir.

XXX XXX XXX

"Hello Alexander..." Whimpered Yagno Petrovna.

He did not fall on his back and show the silver haired man his throat in a gesture of lupine submission, but he was doing an impressive job at the human equivalent.

Gone was air of mysticism that had hung about him during their previous encounters, now he was just an old man, a frightened old man.

He crouched in one corner of his room, trying to take up as little space as possible, as if desperately hoping that he might somehow avoid notice.

"Hello Yagno Petrovna." The Fang of Fenrir returned the greeting a great deal more confidently.

"How… how can you be like this? I have wracked my brain in meditation all night and found not a single answer. How could you have not have felt a burning desire to tell me, to tell everyone, of Fenrir at every turn?" Yagno pleaded, the sheer scope of his confusion forcing his eyes wide open.

Alexander could point out that he'd told Yagno about Fenrir back during their meeting in the temple when he'd been disguised as a priest, but decided against it. Not when he'd spent some of his spare time thinking up a much better answer to the question (or at least one like it) already.

"Imagine a canteen with its lid screwed on tight lying atop a table. You can look at it for hours on end, but unless you bother to unscrew the lid and look inside you won't have a clue to what it holds. Now, imagine a sieve placed on that same table next to the canteen. Both of them have water poured into them by a man who then leaves the room. Another man enters the room and looks at the table. Which object is really 'full' Yagno?" Alexander answered.

Sure enough, the former High Priest of Zhakata was able to recognize the moral of this particular parable and touched his head to the floor in supplication.

Alexander crossed the distance between them and planted a hand on Yagno's shoulder. In other situations it might have been used as a gesture of camaraderie or solidarity. In this one, Alexander made sure to squeeze softly enough that he didn't break Yagno's shoulder, but precious little softer.

"With Fenrir's ascension there are going to be some changes in G'Henna." He insisted.

"Of course." Yagno agreed instantly.

"Fenrir was able to undo Malistroi's magic, but not your own. Not because he lacked the power or the will though. No, Fenrir has made it very clear to me why he did not transform the mongrelmen back to humans… because that is to be your hunt Yagno. You will personally undo what you have done in the name of Zhakata. You will make them human again." Alexander insisted.

"All of them?" Yagno asked, his lip quivering slightly.

"Did I fucking stutter?" Alexander shot back as his single green eye bore deeply into Yagno's frightened countenance.

"But… I'm not sure, even with the blessings of the great Fenrir, I'm not sure if I am strong enough." Yagno babbled.

"Well then, you best get started. Luckily I know exactly where and how you can do it." Alexander promised in a not at all reassuring manner.

He strode out of the room and returned ten seconds later with a mongrelman in tow.

"Yagno Petrovna, Petchko son of Callian, Petchko son of Callian, Yagno Petrovna. You've already met of course." Alexander reintroduced the darklord of G'Henna to the Vistani youth whose body and mind he had twisted.

"Yagno." Petchko said slowly.

It was hard for Petchko to truly believe what stood before him. The Yagno Petrovna who now cowered before Alexander Diamondclaw was but a pale shadow of the man whose fiery speeches he had once been swayed… once been bespelled by.

"Repeat after me Yagno." Alexander insisted.

Yagno nodded and at beckoning gesture slowly rose to his feet.

"In the name of Fenrir the great Chained Wolf." Alexander intoned.

"In the name of Fenrir the great Chained Wolf." Yagno slowly repeated.

"I restore to you, all that Zhakata ever took." Alexander insisted.

"I restore to you all that Zhakata ever took." Yagno said slowly, and then ran his fingers gently across Petchko's face.

Petchko's body was twisted and transformed by Yagno's touch again. A strange wind blew through the room though it had no open windows. A spectral copy of Petchko that bore the appearance of a young man rather than a misshapen monster drifted in through a solid wall. It settled gently upon Petchko's shoulders, and slowly his body changed to match it.

Petchko shook himself heavily as if casting off the last of Zhakata's foul enchantment, and just like that he bore the features of a handsome young vistana rather than a mongrelman.

"Yagno this man will be your beta for G'Henna. He will offer you wisdom in all things, and a wise and worthy alpha will in turn offer consideration to those words." Alexander insisted.

He did not explain what would happen to Yagno if he failed.

"Of course." Yagno agreed again.

"Petchko, give Yagno whatever aid he requires so that he can commit himself wholly to the task of returning the other mongrelmen to their former shapes." Alexander insisted as he gave Petchko son of Callian one of the actually friendly shoulder pats.

XXX XXX XXX

"Hail Fenrir and hail lord Alexander Diamondclaw the Fang of Fenrir! Hail to the Silver Furred Wolf, and his silver haired servant!" Declared one of the countless worshipers that Alexander had been accosted by in the streets of Zhukar.

The only thing that made this one any different was his size, and the fact that when Alexander was content to simply pass him by with a nonchalant wave, the man reached out and seized Alexander by the shoulder. Alexander Diamondclaw was a tall man… but his grateful practitioner was both taller of stature and wider of shoulder.

"Do you not recognize me Lord?" He pleaded with Alexander.

"Zhukar is a big city..." Alexander said, not quite certain how best to let down this giant of a man lightly.

To his surprise the man laughed uproariously and slapped him on the back.

"I should be surprised if you did recognize me! For it was only a few hours ago I was returned to my proper shape by the grace of Fenrir!" The man proclaimed joyously.

Alexander took another look at him. He'd only met one bipedal being (well two, but Malistroi was obviously out of the running) in G'Henna that had been anywhere near this man's size.

"Wahrg?" He suggested awkwardly.

"It is William once again Lord Alexander! I know you have already purchased lodgings at another guesting house, but you must, you must come to see mine! By the blessed fur of Fenrir, the cruel cowards in Zhakata's Inquisition did not steal it from my wife when they took me away to be transformed for demanding payment if they wanted to house their servants!" William explained, his face beaming with joy.

"William… if I visited your guesting house just because I helped you, then I would have to trudge across the city to every single one in Zhukar. I simply don't have the time." Alexander insisted.

"It is not just about me. It is about about my wife. She's, she's been with the Circle since near the start..." William pleaded as he squeezed Alexander all the tighter, making the green eyed man extremely grateful for his considerable constitution.

That particular fact meant very little to Alexander, he'd had no great love for the Circle of Darkness even before he'd discovered they had been created only to serve as a pawn in Rega's plans. Still, he needed to figure out a way to extricate himself from this conversation, and then extricate himself from William's grip.

Alas, Alexander's mind was coming up blank on this particular issue.

Given how many brilliant plans he'd managed to concoct since his arrival in G'Henna, he supposed it deserved a day off and he might have to just bite this particular bullet.

"All right William, if it really means that much to you I'll see your guesting house." The silver haired man sighed.

XXX XXX XXX

William's guesting house proved to be as unexciting a place to visit as Alexander had expected. There were rooms, there were beds, there was a complete absence of anything resembling a kitchen, there was an overly enthusiastic wife who insisted on showering Alexander with praise, both for helping reunite her with her husband and for bringing the word of Fenrir to G'Henna.

There was also a very well concealed trap door.

A very well concealed trapdoor that lead into a basement.

In that basement were barrels, many many barrels.

"I didn't even know about this myself..." William admitted, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"Like I said, she was working with the Circle of Darkness long before I was. She turned our guesting house into a hidden into a supply stockpile.. There's more food down here than in some entire blocks of Zhukar. I was hoping you could advise us on what best to do with it..." William declared proudly.

"If you'll accept coin for it, I'll buy it off of you and see to it that it gets spread around." Alexander promised William as he slowly walked down the row of barrels.

As he did so, he gently wrapped his hand against the barrels, just to make sure that they weren't empty.

Then his keen ears heard a distinctly "sloshy" sound from within one of the barrels.

"What… what is in this one?" Alexander inquired.

"Your guess is as good as mine Lord Diamondclaw." William admitted.

Alexander hefted the heavy barrel off of its rack, and gently placed it on the ground. With slow and delicate movements Alexander removed the barrel's lid. His nostrils flared and he breathed in the smell. The wonderful hoppy smell.

"This, this is a barrel full of G'Hennan liquor!" The silver haired man gasped.

"Guess it is." William agreed.

Alexander crouched low and dunked his entire head into the barrel.

It's good to be the Fang.

XXX XXX XXX

Dear Dame Renier:

This week I learned an important lesson about hunger. Not just the kind of hunger that has to deal with food, but a hunger to be accepted, to be apart of something greater than yourself. People will do crazy things if they think its the only way to fit in, especially if the price of not fitting in is pretty high itself. But at the end of the day that doesn't make it any less of a stupid decision to worship a God who doesn't want you to eat on days that have an "N" in them. Heck, at the end of the day Yagno Petrovna was so hungry for a god to believe in that he took the first one he could find! Given how many gods there are out there who would really want to worship some kind of evil snarling beast? Rather than do that, why couldn't you just find a cheerful goddess who gave out ear scratches? I guess what I'm saying is that if Bastet didn't exist I would need to create her...

PS: I hope that this letter finds you in good health and that you never find yourself hungering for anything as badly as Yagno Petrovna hungered for a god!

PPS: Alexander insisted that I include this, because otherwise I wouldn't, but have you heard the good word of Fenrir the Chained Wolf? I tried to press him for what exactly the "good word" in question was, but so far all he's told me is "woof" at the moment. I also told him you don't really go into the god bothering business, but he insisted that I make you aware just in case you wanted to get in on a promising new religion while it's still getting started.

PPPS: Surprisingly it turns out that G'henna is now located in the Sea of Sorrows, I'll send you another letter with the exact location once we make back to dry land. In the mean time I'd suggest you start gathering together a nice sized grain shipment, they really need it and I'm sure they'd love to start up the distilleries again. If you're lucky you might be able to convince them to let us be their main distributor throughout the Core! Also I inherited a one twelfth share of all the material wealth previously belonging to the Church of the Zhakata the Devourer. Did you know if you bake a big enough pie then even a slice of it can end up being bigger than an entire normal sized pie? Well a one twelfth share of all Zhakata's material wealth is a lot like that except its profit instead of pastry. Once we get back to the mainland and I can find someone, (who Florence will use her magic on to make sure can be trusted) expect a coachman hauling a lot of foreign (but still quite solidly gold) currency to arrive. I know that there is more to wealth and prestige than a shower of scandals so great you can swim in them, which is why I'm sure you can put this stuff to better use than I can. Maybe you could lower taxes... Actually, better idea, just buy everyone in the country a loaf of bread, I think I've seen enough hunger to last me a lifetime...

Your Faithful Servant

Longhair.

XXX XXX XXX

Somewhere out beyond the Mists there is a river that isn't a river.

Its source is not from lakes, waterfalls, seas, or oceans, in fact it isn't made of water to begin it. It is made of saliva, saliva that drips from the mouth of a titanic silver furred wolf.

This wolf is not large in the sense that it is the size of a bear, it is not large in the sense that it is the size of an elephant, there are ocean going whales that are still smaller than this wolf. It lays upon the ground with all four of its limbs bound tightly, barely able to so much as flick its tail back and forth, and yet even that could have been enough to batter down a castle's walls.

No chains of steel, no manacles of iron, no bonds of metal hold this wolf, instead it is tightly encircled by a bright ribbon that seems to be delicate as a strand of silk. Yet for all the wolf's horrific strength it can not break free of the ribbon.

Yet.

The wolf is helpless, a powerful sword has been jammed into its mouth to force it open, and its saliva spreads forming a river. The wolf does little but sit and occasionally strain against the ribbon, the ribbon of seemingly impossible strength that can hold back the wolf's might.

One day the ribbon will finally snap, one day the wolf will be free… but it is not going to be today, it is not going to be for a time beyond any measure of human reckoning. Yet there will be a time all the same, because the wolf is too mighty for anything as paltry and pathetic as the passage of time to weaken, let alone slay it.

Barely able to move, the wolf sat and rested with its single remaining eye closed, having grown tired of watching its unchanging surroundings. That was why it did not immediately noticed when they did actually change.

A man began to approach the wolf.

The 'man' was nearly as fine an example of humanity as the wolf was of lupineity. He was of a great height, his muscles well developed in the extreme, his shoulder's broad and his bearing confident. Yet as majestic a figure as the man was, there was simply no getting past the fact that he had been horribly maimed.

His right hand was completely missing, that arm abruptly terminated in an awkward stump. So it was with one hand alone that the man pulled his massive sled, upon which were stacked half a dozen oxen which were as large as some small elephants.

The faintest twinges of a smile touched the man's face as he approached gigantic wolf with an air of confidence that no ordinary man could have possibly possessed in his situation.

When the beast did not not deign to rouse itself in the slightest at his approach, he decided to take matters into his own hands… well hand.

Letting go of the rope he'd been using to pull the sleigh, the man used his remaining hand to gently wrap the wolf's nose.

"Monster do you really intend to sleep all day?" He called out with a strange air of joviality in his voice.

There was no response, the wolf remained still as a statue, only the gentle heaving of its enormous flanks proved that it was still very much alive.

The one armed man sighed and shook his head.

"Well, if you don't want want all this meat, I know two much less lazy wolves who do..." The man pointed out with just a touch of smugness in his tone.

Slowly the wolf's left eye opened, its right never would, there was nothing left to open. Upon the great beast's face there was a massive crater where its missing eye had been completely carved out.

That single amber golden orb looked down upon the man, fixing him with a look of ominous intent.

"If I remove the sword from your mouth to feed you, will you let me place it there again when I am finished?" The man asked of the wolf.

The beast was silent and sill.

"Wag your tail once for no, twice for yes. Keep in mind, you'll have a pretty hard time killing my father if your nothing but skin and bones, assuming you're even strong enough to break free..." The man needled the beast.

The wolf's tail wagged once, then very slowly it wagged a second time. It then twisted its neck slightly so that the one armed man would have an easier time to withdrawing the blade that had been used to prop its mouth open.

The man tossed the sword upon the ground without a second thought and the wolf promptly snapped its mouth shut and swallowed mightily. Then it yawed and gave a fresh series of tugs against the ribbon which held it, but no matter how its mountainous muscles bulged it could not break free.

"I was busy." The wolf snarled contemptuously, its voice strangely human and refined as opposed to the bestial growl one might have expected.

"Well, now you can be busy eating." The man offered.

Then with astounding ease, he grabbed one of the oxen he'd brought with it and hurled it into the air.

The wolf's jaws opened and he snapped the ox up in one single bite, swallowing the tremendous animal in a single clean gulp.

"Bigger. Bring something bigger next time, I want a chance to work my teeth..." The wolf insisted.

"There's precious few things in this world or any other that you'd actually need to chew Monster." The man pointed out before grabbing another ox and tossing it to the hungry wolf.

This one was consumed just as quickly as the first had been.

"I'll chew your father. Not that I'll need to, but because he deserves it. Because I want to..." The wolf insisted, and as it spoke it made yet another futile attempt at escaping from the ribbon.

"There are many worse deaths than to die gloriously in battle against a foe of your stature." The one handed man reflected.

"Well, thank you for pissing on the one thing I have to look forward to in in my entire life. Would you like to smear crap on my fur next?" The wolf inquired with a tremendous huff of its nostrils, generating enough forced to have knocked a lesser man clean off his feet.

The one handed man weathered the blast of wind though and simply grabbed another ox to feed to the wolf.

The beast consumed them all one by one, none of them requiring any true effort on its part.

"What were you doing… when I first arrived?" The one handed man eventually asked after he tossed the final animal.

His voice took an an almost plaintive tone, as if he deeply regretted asking the question yet could not resist his curiosity.

The wolf was silent for a long while, and then it finally answered.

"Seeing through my missing eye..." The beast growled, yet sounded more morose than angry.

"Does your right eye see a better world than your left one?" The man asked, his own voice equally downcast.

"What a tremendously difficult task that would be! Of course my missing eye sees a better world than the one that is still in my skull!" The wolf scoffed.

"What is it like there?" The one armed man asked, his voice hesitant, as if expecting the beast to lunge at him, or at least promptly terminate their conversation.

But the wolf continued to speak.

"It is a world unlike any you ever told me of. It is full of people, wolves, and monsters, but empty of gods." The wolf declared smugly, warming to the subject.

"Empty of gods? How can a world be empty of gods?" The one handed man sounded rather disturbed by that particular possibility.

"How do you expect a common beast to answer such a question? The world is empty of gods, that is simply how it is, much as my sister's prison is cold and my brother's is wet. People might still offer their prayers, but no gods walk the world, only men and monsters." The wolf insisted.

"You being the greatest of the later of course." The one handed man surmised.

"Oh without question. I am always the greatest, in this world or any other! My brother you managed to best by honest combat… me… you had to resort to trickery and deceit." The wolf spat those final words with such vehemence it was a wonder they didn't emerge as boiling acid.

The pair exchanged pained looks with one another.

There would be no reconciliation, no forgiveness between them. There would only be vengeance and suffering. Such was what the fates had willed, and such was what they both desired, both felt it was justified and right.

"How many foes have fallen before you?" The man asked trying to steer the conversation onto less painful ground.

"Hah! How many stars are there in the sky?" The wolf boasted, his chest swelling with pride.

"Tell me of your greatest victories then." The man asked, seeming to draw strength and comfort from the wolf's own boisterous words.

"The world is so empty of gods that I have been able to make them imagine me to be one!" The wold declared happily.

"Here I thought I raised you better Monster. Your father's blood must be finally showing itself if you would engage in such a great deception." The man chuckled.

"It was not my idea." The wolf insisted with a shake of its head.

"It was, his idea, the man whose head I see out of. Though I would be lying if I did not admit that the sheer absurdity of it did appealed to me. Besides, it is good practice." The wolf insisted.

"Practice?" The man was confused.

"It seems that there's more than one way to kill a god all things considered. All his followers, all his temples, they are one and all mine now. No one will ever speak of him again except to describe how I triumphed over him. Together, I and the man have killed the god Zhakata, and I never even needed to lay a claw on him." The wolf snickered.

"The man, what is he like?" The one armed man asked.

"Better than you." The wolf answered instantly.

"I'm glad to hear it." The man replied, and his smile was not the least bit forced.

End Book.

AN: I'd like to make one thing clear, I came up with Alexander's demand "Death to the statues of the dead god" before Charlottesville happened. Yes, I am that lazy/yes I tend to be so slap dash in my writing that I will write scenes I like before I bother to write the ones I need to move the story along/post another chapter. I was not trying to be topical or directly political (that's what my Nosos story is for, if I ever get back to writing it which probably won't be until certain other events takes take place) at the time of their writing. However as is often said about Lord of the Rings, just because a story is not written as allegory, does not mean that it lack applicability to a situation.

Also, if you couldn't figure it out, yes that was Fenrir's real body (minus his right eye of course) and his companion was Tyr. Tyr and Fenrir's relationship can be described/interpreted many ways, and the one that I like to go with is not so much Norse Old Yeller (because that implies a lack of agency on Fenrir's part which is manifestly not the case) but rather the tragedy of a good honest man forced to make Sophie's Choice between his father and his adopted son.

He went with the one who he actually had ties of blood with (and had known for longer than a year at the time, (a lot longer than a year given how long Gods live for) which was a perfectly reasonable choice at the time. A perfectly reasonable choice that lead to Fenrir finding out how it feels when the only person in the world who actually likes you, the only person in the world who actually cares for you, decides to betray your trust and imprison you for some "crime" that you haven't even committed yet.

Thanks to Odin's paranoia there were no "good" choices for Tyr, so he went with the one whose price he could most willingly pay. If it helps you get a grasp of his character, I was going to write a side story that took place when Fenrir was initially chained and the end of it the big twist was this... Fenrir so badly loves his father/brother/companion Tyr that he can't bring himself to claim the hand (the right hand, the most important sword wielding hand) of someone who taught him everything he knows about battle, honor and justice and opens his mouth to let Tyr withdraw his hand.

At which point Tyr tells Fenrir that he will stand there and starve rather than leave with both of his hands intact after the dishonor that he has done to the wolf. Fenrir not wanting Tyr to die and having been told that the only way to avoid him killing himself is to maim Tyr, bites down on his hand.

I know this qualifies as show don't tell, but that side story was for the most part just a sympathetic retelling of how badly Fenrir was emotionally wounded by what the Æsir did to him, the point is that it clarifies the nature of Tyr's character and how he viewed the loss of his hand as an appropriate maiming to represent the way he had lost the right to call himself a god of honor after what he had done to Fenrir.

So if you're wondering why Fenrir might possibly get along pretty well enough with Alex that they haven't driven each other insane yet despite one being a god the other being mortal, one being a wolf the other being a man… well look at the above story, look back on how Alex tends to treat transformations/using his powers… and the answer might start to be a little more obvious.

By the way this epilogue actually broke with tradition in some ways, not just because we had a scene after the letter, but because the letter itself was different. It was not actually directly based on any of Twilight Sparkle's letters to Princess Celestia, even if it does retain the rough form. However Friendship is Magic is obviously never going to do a show about the dangers/side effects of famine /hunger so I made one up whole cloth, and I do still like the results.

Finally, Alex is probably being a bit unfair to the people of G'Henna, there is little reason to believe that they existed before Yagno Petrovna became a darklord, and so they were probably made whole cloth by the Dark Powers. Not only that, but they were probably made with some sort of magical genetic defect along the line of what the Word Bearers from Warhammer 40K suffer from where they can not feel emotionally healthy unless they have something vastly greater than themselves to believe in. They were a people who CRAVED to have a god the way that a normal human craves food.

On the other hand, there's no reason that Alex could possibly know that, so from his point of view they're a country of idiots who fell in behind the first con man they came across. So, now that he's in town and running a better con he deserves their praise/obedience, and they should be grateful that it isn't someone worse. The later might sound conceited, but on the other hand yesterday those people were worshiping Yagno Petrovna, they really should be grateful to be given the chance to worship Alexander Diamondclaw and Fenrir instead of Yagno and Zhakata!


	18. Chapter 18

Monster Party Book Seven Author Commentary:

I LIVE!

Yes I'm finally taking a break from Warframe and other stuff to finally do some posting.

I'm glad that when the time came that this huge peroid of deadspace happened, I didn't leave you guys hanging in the middle of a story. In theory it would have been even better for me to have finished up the commentary, but like I said at least I didn't leave you wondering what would happen next, and all that is left for Book 7 is some, well, bookkeeping.

That said to make this go a little "quicker" or at least get something posted, I'm going to break it into three parts.

Part 1 is going to cover my thoughts on the story over all and its themes, parts two and three will be the first and then second half of the adventure on a chapter by chapter basis.

Anyway, I hope that this is worth the wait.

Due to how long it took me to write this story, my thoughts may be a bit more jumbled/inarticulate than normal (and hey they're probably pretty jumbled to start with all things considered) so I'm just gonna bounce around a few topics that have to deal with this story first, and then get around to describing it on a chapter by chapter basis later.

So, to start with, despite the fact that he's had three "books" which feature him as the "main character" (and he had quite a bit of focus in book six also, there's a reason that book eight is going to feature Devi, the only member of the group who hasn't gotten a book to herself yet, just because he's the alpha (and part of him is a being on a god like scale though not actually a god) doesn't mean Alex gets all the limelight) I think it is safe to say that book seven is much more Alex's story than either of the two that came before it.

As I've previously mentioned, the real "main character" or at least the character around who the story pivots even if they don't do most of the fighting (a good example is Lord of the Rings, the story pivots around Frodo even if Aragorn does a lot more fighting) is the one who suffers the most.

To repeate what I've said before so you don't have to go bouncing all over my various commentaries and expand on it a little, Book Two was the story of Mikhail Zolnik coming to grips with his nature as a lycanthrope. It was the story of how even though that particular curse has quite literally been passed down from father to son, he won't let it change who he is as a person. Mikhail finds the strength of character to refuse to serve his father as a man or as a wolf, and refuses to hide who and what he is from the woman he loves, which was the very mistake/sin which began Gregor's transformation from noble hunter to cruel tyrant. Mikhail proves himself a better man than his father, a man who will not be tricked or tempted into becoming a darklord, and in doing so frees his country from the grasp of the Dark Powers, not to mention the endless winter they'd brought to Vorostokov.

Book Five is the story of Wyan grappling with his both his faith and the power he now holds as head of the Tempest's Inquisition. Power that he never particularly wanted, but power that is necessary to organize a cohesive defense against the monsters that would prey on the people of his realm. Wyan has managed to avoid being actively corrupted by that power, but at the same time is he still unintentionally doing more harm than good?

Now that we know more of Alexander Diamondclaw's past you can probably see why he ended up being so strangely compassionate to Wyan despite his normally standoffish and gruff approach to others. Alexander saw in Wyan a man traveling down the exact same path that he took, and yet doing so with a humble heart where Alexander became haughty. Wyan is the man Alexander wishes he could have been back when he was simply a mortal man, because if he had been, then he never would have needed the Eye of Fenrir or an encounter with Florence Bastien to avoid possibly becoming a darklord himself.

Book Five is about Wyan's pain of discovering that even when he acts with the best of intentions and to the best of his knowledge, things can still go awry, yet at the end to have not acted all would have only lead to still greater tragedy.

In this book though, as I pointed out in my end of chapter commentaries, Alex is unquestionably suffering. When he finds out that he's in G'Henna, he starts with one simple goal, to get a chance to drink a proper G'Hennan brewed beer again.

Also just to be clear, don't think that I'm including liquor just as a short hand for humor. It is clearly written in the adventure books. Let me quote directly from Circle of Darkness… (starts on page five goes onto page six) "To the east of Dervich lies most of the arable land, the Fertile Valley. Farms and private estates dot the windy steppes and industries struggle along the muddy banks of the northern Eel's Flow River and the turgid southern Drogach River. Although little more than a blot of green on the dusty G'Hennan landscape, this area provides a single resource, the grapes for G'Hennan red wine."

Even more importantly on page 16 describing the breweries…

"At one time G'Hennans imported grain from Falkovnia and used it to brew some of the best beers and ales in all of Ravenloft. With the domain's isolation, many of the breweries lay idle."

So it is canon that there is liquor produced in G'Henna, it is canon that some of it is especially good liquor!

Alex wants to get his hands on some of it, and he can't. That may seem like a rather simple minded and in fact downright silly reason for suffering/going on a domain spanning adventure, but Ajay Ghale just wanted to spread his mother's ashes. Simple desires have a way of becoming very complex when you're trying to carry them out in oppressive theocracies/dictatorships.

Alex wants that liquor, and at every turn he has to deal with the pigheaded fanaticism of Zhakata worshipers, people who have joined a religion that is effectively a slow motion suicide cult, and seem perfectly happy about the prospect.

Granted, some of that "happiness" is probably because being seen as unhappy with the worship of Zhakata is going to get the inquisition called on you, and then you'll really have something to be unhappy about!

To make this book even more Alex's story, the villains properly reflect him. This can be seen somewhat in book two, where Alex is a dark reflection of Gregor (Gregor is a straight up Maladaptive Lycanthrope and Alex's transformations based on sharing a body with Fenrir is more appropriately approximated to Maladictive Lycanthropy than anything other type of shapeshifting) in that they both started out as heroes of their communities who genuinely deserved that particular position.

In turn they both let the the glory and praise which came with that position go to their heads, and the fact that Alex got cut off from it/kept himself cut off from it, probably an important aid in helping him reform.

Even more tellingly, look at how Gregor acts towards his Boyarsky and how Alex treats the other members of his own group. Gregor rounded up ordinary people and those who opposed his rule, and turned them into monsters who had no choice but to serve him. Alex directly sought out monsters (Devi being an elf is enough to qualify her for "monster-hood" in Tepest and a few other places) and Cal, who if of course a jackass. Gregor twists ordinary people into monsters, Alex convinces monsters to serve the needs and goals of ordinary people.

As for book five, well it is a good thing that the comparison between Alex and Wyan is so strong because book five's villains are a bit of a let down all things considered.

We go through about four different ones (the boowray, the lady of the lake, the Three Sisters and finally Loht) with none of them being on screen for more than a chapter each. None of them are super compelling on their own, and the fact that Loht doesn't get resolved until another story/adventure book is partly to blame for that.

Circling back to this book…

We have three villains in this story, but unlike book five they're all compelling/interesting in their own ways and they all stick around for more than a chapter.

Even better, all three villains can serve as dark mirrors of Alexander Diamondclaw, at least when he is taken as a whole.

If you wonder what I mean by that, lets start with the one you probably think is the longest reach…. Malistroi.

Malistroi isn't a mirror of the "Douglas" part of Alex (see my newest side story if that doesn't make sense) but of Fenrir. Malistroi is an immoral being that was locked away and now seeks to be set free and get revenge against the one who imprisoned him.

That is of course in the broad strokes, exactly Fenrir's back story.

We can even tie them a little closer together by saying in both cases their being bound away forever was really the fault of the one who did the binding and not the one who was bound. The prophecy which foretold how Fenrir would kill Odin freaked him out so much that he decided to inflict massive suffering upon a currently innocent creature. Malistroi never would have been in G'Henna in the first place if Yagno Petrovna hadn't realized that his faith was so empty that he needed the concrete proof of actually talking with Zhakata (which completley undermines the point of "faith" as we understand it in a world where gods aren't expected to talk to us or grant us magical powers when we invoke their names) in person.

This similarity between them is why Alex pauses when first confronting Malistroi and isn't able to bring himself to attack the demon until he starts taking advantage of the mongrelmen, thus crossing one of Alex's big red lines about how nobody will hurt those he has sworn to protect.

Of course once you start looking closer the similarities start breaking down, and you can see why Fenrir can be a hero but Malistroi is still ultimately a force for evil.

Fenrir was True Neutral before being imprisoned and after being imprisoned became Chaotic Neutral. Malistroi was Chaotic Evil before and after his imprisonment. He may claim that he has suffered, he may even genuinely have suffered, but at the end of the day Malistroi is a chaotic evil fiend, it is in nature to harm, warp, twist, and corrupt everywhere he goes, Yagno imprisoning him gave him an excuse, gave him a reason to target Yagno in particular (because he can't leave so long as he's stuck in Ravenloft, and he can't even leave G'Henna so long as it is a pocket domain thanks to Yagno) but it in no way made him the demonic monster that he is today, he was that same monster even before he was locked away.

Not only that, but look at how they go about enacting their desired revenge once they get a chance. Fenrir breaks free, and like a fury missile heads straight for Odin, and kills him. Malistroi breaks free… and immediately starts twisting and corrupting everything around him to create an army to conquer G'Henna, and make Yagno suffer further by proving he is powerless before Malistroi's mystical might. Malistroi would only be happy if Yagno suffered first and had no problem harming innocent people to achieve that effect, Fenrir just wanted Odin dead and took most direct route possible to that outcome.

Hence why Fenrir (through Alex) can honestly say that he never wanted "revenge" simply "justice" instead. Needless to say Fenrir desiring "justice" is to a great deal caused by him wishing to embrace the concepts that Tyr taught him growing up.

Once upon a time Fenrir (or at least my version of Fenrir) genuinely believed in/respect the sort of honor and justice, approach to life that Tyr espoused. After Tyr himself betrayed Fenrir, he saw that if even a god of honor can be made to act dishonorably then clearly there is no merit to the concept.

The concepts that do have merit however, that he still believes down in his heart of hearts, is the very Norse (as I understand the concept/religion feel free to correct me if I am wrong) that if you want to make a name for yourself, you do it by taking on and defeating great challenges. Great heroes are defined by the great foes they overcome. That's why even at his most enraged, Fenrir doesn't have it in him to be a tyrant, because bards don't write songs (not approving ones anyway) about the man who sits in a castle and oppresses the peasants; they write songs about the man hero who slays the dragon.

So, in the end Fenrir has nothing but contempt for Malistroi, because he wishes to corrupt and control rather than to achieve something so awesome that people will be left so awestruck they'll venerate you without even needing to ask for, let alone command it!

Next up is Yagno Petrovna himself, who represents a dark mirror of "Douglas The Ardent" in that he is a leader of people, who is now causing them suffering rather than protecting them from it.

Not only that, but both of them are more or less completely blind to their own flaws and weaknesses.

Douglas' rule was a great deal more secular in nature (fear of the Fey came first, a religious way to way to explain/comprehend the Fey came second) while Yagno's has always been religious first and foremost instead.

Alex also hates Yagno because at any given time Alex is typically about 75% Douglas and 25% Fenrir (except when channeling the combined power of Yagno and Malistroi to assume his true wolf state then he becomes 75% Fenrir and 25% Douglas) and that 25% has a lot to say about gods, except that since gods themselves don't show up much (make that "at all" in Ravenloft) it gets passed on down to clerics instead.

Alex can overrule this particular desire/instinct as he did in the case of Wyan, but he and Fenrir are both all too happy to agree that Yagno Petrovna is an asshole, and Alex/Douglas would also have some very choice words (and actions) for any followers of the Iron Faith who tried to seriously get him to fall in line.

Yagno is the most contemptible of the three villains of the piece (having reaped the rewards of his villainy the longest) also gets to suffer the most in turn. Where Yagno Petrovna once lived with the uncertain itch in the back of his skull that he might be serving a god who did not truly exist… now he will live out the rest of his days (and if a darklord has ever died of old age I haven't heard of it…) with the certain dread in his stomach that he serves a very real god, a real god who does not like him in the least and would be happy to smite him if he steps a toe out of line.

Not because he serves a particularly angry or vengeful god, but because Yagno backed the wrong side in a divine conflict, and now he's the clerical equivalent of a prisoner of war. Yagno is thus going to be forever in Alexander's shadow for as long as he remains in the domain, and by the time Alex is ready to leave Yagno will have become a figurehead in his own faith with Petchko actually being in charge.

Yagno Petrovna, who spent all his life looking for a god… has finally found one, and that god hates him. Such sweet suffering, is it any one why the Dark Powers allowed Alex to get away with so many technicalities (like probably granting magic to people who worship Fenrir) if the end result was delivering unto them an entirely new way to make one of their favorite prisoners suffer?

Finally, we have Madar/Rega. Rega is a dark reflection of Alex as he is now, a schemer who is devoid of respect for rulership be it secular or divine.

Rega isn't a darklord, he doesn't have as many huge personality hangups/defects and so in his argument with Alexander even if he (Rega) gets outplayed and outplanned him, he is never quite out argued.

This is Ravenloft, villains are supposed to be complex, they're allowed to make valid points/arguments every so often.

Granted, their particular differences can best be summarized by looking back at the works of Fredrick Nietzsche (whose arguments I am highly likely to be interpreting wrong so once again please correct me)...

Basically when a system of overall morality begins to become corrupt/decaying/no long properly functioning for the good of society, it will need eventually need to be torn down.

In the process of tearing it down there will be a conflict between two competing forces.

Force A is "The Last Man" (BOO!) the person who is aware that the framework they're supporting has become horrifically corrupt and nonfunctional, but at the same time wishes to prop it up/continue it, simply because doing so will allow them to maintain power, prestige, and a privileged position in the system as it currently stands. Rega is effectively the "Last Man" of G'Henna, while Yagno still in his twisted mind believes that the mindlessly devote theocracy he's created is a good thing, Rega knows it is nothing but hollow words… but doesn't have an especially great problem with that so long as he becomes the new high priest to who everyone bends a knee. His problem with Yagno's current repressive theocracy is that its a regressive theocracy where Yagno Petrovna holds power and not Rega.

Force B which opposes the Last Man is the Ubermensch (YAY!) a man who seeks to tear down the ineffective and corrupt old system and replace it with a new one. Alex is the Ubermensch in G'Henna and just about everywhere else he goes. In a world as corrupt and dark as Ravenloft where well a good solid three quarters or so of the time governments are actively creating problems for their people rather than solving them (three quarters of that three quarters because the Darklord is/is in control of the official government) morality becomes a bit trickier.

While in the real world obviously one of the main ways to be a good person (or at least avoid being a bad person) is simply follow the safety handrails that society has put in place and don't break the law, that isn't going to work in Alex's situation. So many times the laws that he's confronted with (this book is an excellent example) were created not to further the common good but to secure the grip of tyrants, if not simply at the will of tyrants for no particular purpose.

So Alex has decided that he will refuse to be bound by the laws of any land, and will break them however and whenever he sees fit. It is worth pointing out at this time that if you haven't realized it yet, none of our six main heroes are of the Lawful alignment, Alex and James are both Chaotic Good, Florence is Neutral Good, Devi and Cal are True Neutral, Mirri is Chaotic Evil.

Anyway, so having torn down the rotting structure of the conventional morality he has been presented with, the Ubermensch proceeds to build in its place a new better and brighter code of morality! In Alex's case, his driving principle is, well honestly for most part it could best be summed by part of the Chorus of "Sophia" by Cruxshadows.

Do not injustice to another,

Defend the weak and the innocent,

Let truth and honor always guide you,

Let courage find a life within.

Stand up when no one else is willing,

Act not in hatred or in spite,

Be to this world as a perfect knight,

Even if it means your life!

That said, being Chaotic Good, Alex views these more as guidelines rather than hard and fast rules (thus why at times he is at times a tremendous dick, he/Florence/the group in general just make sure his dickery is pointed squarely at people who deserve it).

So when Madar argues that Alex's philosophy basically boils down him using his strength to impose his version of "Might makes Right" on everyone he meets and everywhere he goes, it is a valid point.

Madar's neutral evil philosophy in turn also boils down to "Might makes Right" at the end of the day.

The devil (or at possibly the angel) is in the details though… or to be even more apt go back to what Florence said in the mos recent side story, you can only know the truth of a tree by examining its fruit.

When Alex says "Might makes Right" he genuinely means "Right". He means that this world is broken, warped, cruel and wicked (which this being Ravenloft is a pretty accurate statement) and so his Might be used to set things Right. Might is a tool used to transform the world and bring about a state of moral rightness.

When Madar says "Might makes Right" he means that he will use his strength to make it so that there are none who can stand against him.

Both Alex and Madar have torn themselves free from the conventional morality that G'Henna tries to impose upon its occupants, but only Alexander Diamondclaw is a Ubermensch because he has replaced that lost conventional morality with a new code of ethics and morals, all Madar has left is his own unfettered lust for power.

Anyway now that we have have established the situation (in almost ludicrous level of detail), the time has come to actually talk about the book itself on a chapter by chapter detail.

Or to be more exact, the time as has come to do that with my next update….


	19. Chapter 19

Monster Party Book Seven Author Commentary, part 2:

I LIVE AGAIN!

Seriously I need to work myself into a better schedule for this kind of thing or I'm never going to get anything done. Sorry guys, been busy with a lot of stuff, Marvel Strike Force is fun, etc, maybe now that I've finally managed to proofread and post this, I'll feel inspired to start writing more stuff again.

Anyway, back to/lets start discussing the story on a chapter by chapter basis.

Chapter one, we have our heroes arrive in G'Henna. We quickly establish that Alex takes the difference between good and bad alcoholic beverages seriously (as previously pointed out, when you have a constitution score that makes it the next best thing to impossible to actually get drunk, "it tastes terrible but at least it will get me hammered" swiftly turns it "well this just tastes terrible") and G'Henna is known for producing some of the finest drinks around. Or to be more exact it used to be known for producing some of the finest drinks around, they've stopped exporting the stuff they made (and noticeably decrease how much of it they made/increased how much of it the church claimed) since Yagno went even crazier than normally and insisted Zhakata the Provider did not exist.

Thus, we have successfully established our main character's motivation, or at least one motivation.

Next we have our run in with Callian, she isn't around very long, but she isn't around very long in the adventure book either. She basically exists to give the characters another less mundane motivation for exploring G'Henna, possibly with a dying Vistana curse thrown on top if they're proving especially callous/uncooperative.

Remember this is Ravenloft, the players will go along with a reasonable amount of railroading so long as the trip has a nice view to watch out the windows and they get to blow the whistle a few times.

If the above metaphor displeases you blame my brother, he came up with it, though he was using it to describe Shadowrun adventures at the time….

Speaking of Shadowrun….

Alex: Possession Mage (back in 4th edition when that was legal at least).

Mirri: Face adept who also has some cyberware for tanking. (My brother has proven this is a perfectly viable build for 5th and while it may lack for direct damage output using "commanding voice" to make our opponents surrender can end fights pretty damn quickly all the same).

Cal: Street samurai, longarms.

James: Street Samurai, probably some exotic meta-human type giving cat like features. Also fairly decent odds he was originally born/created in a megacorp tank to kill people for them.

Devi: Skill monkey rigger/hacker.

Florence: The traditional "Glass cannon" mage build with a few healing spells.

Wait, this is about Ravenloft and D&D not Shadowrun right? (I kid, especially given that in the past I've already made arguments for how adventures in Ravenloft tend to have much more in common with shadowrunners than traditional D&D protagonists…)

Anyway, getting back to the story…

Next up our group encounters the wolf pack.

They're much more threatening in the adventure book, but that's because your standard adventure party isn't going to include Alex who more or less has an innate "charm wolf" spell like ability (though it does not supersede Darklord based abilities), due to the fact that he has the eye (and a fair portion of the consciousness) of a lupine demi-god in his head.

Alex's solution for getting rid of the dead Vistani's body is pretty gruesome, but as he points out, dead is dead, the terrain is really unsuited to burying anyone at the moment, and all burying really would accomplish in this case is lead to the body being eaten by worms and other insects.

This is also the first time that Alex insist that he isn't a god in this book. It'll be something of a running theme as you may have noticed, leading up to the character development (question mark?) of him eventually insisting that he /Fenrir is a god at the story's climax. Not so much because Alex genuinely believes he's a god, but because with great power comes great responsibility and sometimes you have to take a page out of the Ghost Buster's playbook if you want to save the day. Well, that and a few other reasons that I'll touch on later.

Then we get to meet Marda who is understandably getting out (or at least trying to) while the getting is good when it comes to Zhukar in particular and G'Henna in general. This isn't too surprising since as a rule of thumb, when things start to go do bad (well more bad than usual) in the domains of Ravenloft, the Vistani are going to be the first ones to notice it, and the first ones to try and jump ship, since often they have ways of pulling it off that may even allow them to escape through a closed border.

Her wagon breaks, the wolves show appreciation for a coming meal but alas Alex has to disappoint them.

If for some reason this was you first Monster Party Story (which it probably isn't and probably shouldn't be, but in the words of the great Stan Lee, "every comic is someone's first" so if you're going to write serialized adventures, write them with an eye towards making each one have at least some appeal to first time readers) we get a hint about the group when Alex says that James and Mirri should help him right the wagon. He asks for those two to help because of course as a werecat and vampire respectively, they have superhuman strength, and of course so does Alex since he's a demi/quasi-god.

Once the wagon is fixed Marda is kind enough to give our characters a reading from her Tarokka deck.

This reading comes pretty much straight from the adventure book, much like the reading in book five, it helps lay out the adventure to come, and what the main characters can expect.

Unlike those readings however, since the darklord card needs to show up as part of the reading, its not possible for the darklord reversed card to show up, because there's only one copy of any given card in a Tarokka deck.

Granted, there have been past events where cards that were not part of the deck at all have shown up (in "The Enemy Within" (which I suppose is not the best place to draw material from given how its been retconned half a different ways from Sunday) one Vistani points out that they never actually made a "Darklord" card, it just suddenly shows up in their deck after they're taken to Ravenloft) so a second copy suddenly being present in the deck would not be too unbelievable in the grand scheme of things, but I decided that running gags should stand aside to help avoid breaking suspension of disbelief.

Besides, we don't need the darklord reversed card when instead we have the swashbuckler card to represent Alexander Diamondclaw and the part he will play in the coming story.

The swashbuckler is of course a card related to two things, the first being "coins" which unsurprisingly are the cards related to thieves/people whose lives revolve around money which isn't quite as apt, but the second thing that the card is related to, is people of a Chaotic Good alignment, and that is Alex through and through.

Also if you've read the adventure book, you'll know at this very point roughly how the final climax is going to go down in the sense of Alex/a member of the group will steal Yagno's powers and use them to destroy Malistroi. The adventure book basically tells you to stack the deck so that you can draw the necessary cards for foretelling the story to come, but to leave the very last card random and based on what suit it is will possibly determine how to resolve the final conflict.

Interesting idea, might be a bit "meh" since it means that the heroes don't necessarily have full control of how the story will resolve, but on the other hand this is Ravenloft, so stuff like that happens.

Anyway, the group gets their reading and go back into the desert in order to try and reach Zhukar and thus of course, to find Alex a good drink.

Thus end chapter one, and so we move onto chapter two.

We start out with just something silly stuff of the group laying around in a great big "wolf pile" for shared bodily warmth. I'm not sure if wolves actually do snuggle up as close to one another as portrayed here, but if they don't Alex convinced them to for their own good.

Also to double back for a moment, yes this was another Discworld reference when the alpha of the wolf pack the group encounters is named "Gavin" since that is the same name an alpha wolf goes by in Fifth Elephant.

Mostly this chapter just starts off with our group making their way through the desert and we see the various precautions both magical and mundane that they take to deal with the less than welcoming terrain.

We eventually manage to get to Zhukar itself where the guards are not exactly friendly, but at least trying to be somewhat welcoming. They're soldiers of a totalitarian theological regime, but that doesn't mean they're opposed to the idea of visitors!

As outsiders, the group ends up having more leeway than most actual citizens of Zhukar, and in the grand spirits of most PC parties, if they're given an inch they're going to take a mile. This is especially true when they're taking a mile from the people who deserve to have even more taken from them, which is unquestionably the case when it comes to Zhukar and Yagno Petrovna.

If it has somehow not already been established, while Yagno may not be as personally blood thirsty as say Vlad Drakov, remember the entire "slow motion suicide cult" thing I brought up earlier.

So the first thing that our group needs to deal with is getting some place to sleep, once again, when in doubt deal with the simple necessities in life.

We get to see a little of how Alex handles the fact that guesting houses owners in general (and Leon in particular) don't like to deal with atheists. Alex fast talks his way through his by referencing "The Chained Wolf" as what he puts his faith in. This probably sounds on first reading sounds like a nicely metaphorical approach to the how Alex describes his internal struggles with restraining the animalistic instincts/aspects of his personality.

It might sound like that, but as we discover later he's actually being much less metaphorical, Fenrir is the Chain Wolf, and Fenrir is what Alex puts a lot of his trust in.

That lets us close out chapter two and we move onto chapter three.

In chapter three we start with the running gag of Alex and the bells of G'Henna. Alex due to his powers has keener ears than ordinary humans, and so he does not like the city's ritual of ringing bells early in the morning. Once again, simple thing in practice, but it helps firmly establish that Alex is suffering, which will help generate catharsis and feelings of accomplishment when he finally escapes/puts an end to that suffering.

Then we see Alex do some shopping (or to be more exact, try to do some shopping) and eventually come to the shocking realization that much of G'Henna's architecture is made of human bones.

He takes it well… in the sense that he doesn't actually harm anyone. Then Florence convinces him to go watch one of Yagno's sermons, both to better plan for how to defeat him, and to have a more better idea of what he looks like while fantasizing about defeating/killing him!

Faced with such an impeccable argument, Alex allows himself to be dragged along.

Before he can get there though, he receives a flat in your face slap that the people of Zhukar are not just suffering from a lack of food, some of them are lacking the will/desire to eat even if given food.

Alex is not happy about this. Alex considers that there is more than enough suffering in the world already, people don't need to be creating more of it for themselves intentionally.

It is at this point when Alex comes to that conclusion about how the people of G'Henna (or at the very least that person in particular) are so deeply tied to Zhakata that the only way they could possibly accept anything different and better would be not only if their faith in Zhakata was forcefully ripped away from them, but it was then directly and without them having any choice in the matter, transferred over onto another more benevolent (not to mention sane) god.

FORESHADOWING!

Anyway, next we get to see Yagno preach and we get introduced to Petchko, who if I had done a worse (or simply different) approach to this book could be argued to be the main character in much the way that as previously mentioned book two centers around Mikhail and book five around Wyan.

Petchko is going to surfer as much or more than Alex suffers in this book but unlike with the above two examples Alex at first more or less turns a metaphorical cold shoulder to Petchko's suffering.

Not that he'll ignore him or make his suffering worse, (which exactly what the ordinary people of Zhukar are doing) but if at certain points in this story you got the feeling that Alex found Petchko irritating and annoying, congratulations that was exactly what I was going for.

In the mind of Alexander Diamondclaw (at least early on in the story) when you decide to not only get involved in a slow motion suicide cult, but actually become a priest and thus try to perpetuate/recruit others into said slow motion suicide cult, you don't really have much in the way of a moral high ground to complain from if the slow motion suicide cult suddenly turns on you.

Alex's approach to Petchko can best be described as a veterinarian tending to a squirrel that was stupid enough to chew through his house's power lines shocking itself half to death and leaving him without power for a day.

That squirrel is stupid, it brought its suffering on itself, but I will help it because it is my job as a veterinarian/RPG protagonist to help this poor stupid squirrel/priest who clearly has no one else to rely on.

The RPG protagonist is the last thread in the social safety net of many worlds, and so Alex will help Petchko not because he really wants to (at first) but because he knows in his heart of hearts that if he doesn't then no one else will and Petchko deserves better than he's getting….

Well that, and if a Vistani finds out that you let her nephew get mistreated when you had the power to help them, that's a great way to wind up getting hit with a nasty Vistani curse. Alex's eye of Fenrir may make him immune to conventional magic, but he isn't quite sure if it will hold up against Vistani curse, and he'd would rather not have to find out, to say nothing of how the rest of the group wouldn't have any convenient immunity if the Vistana in question decides to curse them instead/they got caught up in the same curse that was laid on Alex.

Speaking of helping Petchko, that neatly brings us into chapter four.

In this chapter we get to mainly see three things. The first thing is Alex rescuing Petchko from the people of Zhukar who now consider him an outlaw (in the original sense of the term meaning "this person is outside the law, do what you will to them, you will face no punishment") and so will mistreat him, either because he makes a convenient target to unleash their petty sadism against, or because they believe they'll earn Zhakata's favor by further punishing those who he has cursed.

Alex of course gets to have at least a little fun scarring the pants off of some people, before grabbing people and escaping with Petchko. It is written in such a way that if this was your first Monster Party Book then there would be no way to know for sure that the creature which saved Petchko was Alex, but it is not exactly the world's most carefully hidden secret either, after all we cut from Petchko passing out while in the creature's grip to being woken up by Alexander Diamondclaw.

The next part of the chapter is the farce/comedy of Alex/the party doing things that Petchko would clearly not approve of, (not that they especially crave his approval, but lacking his disapproval makes him easier to manipulate/get along with) either just outside of his ability to witness said acts, or quickly covering them up with lies that range from believable to… not so believable.

For example, Mirri isn't using magic (which is the technically correct (the best kind of correct) since vampiric charm is actually a spell like ability) she's just using Nova Vassan mesmerism.

The third and final part of this particular chapter is the group taking a trip of the avenue of the false gods. As suggested in the adventure book this place is home not only to many versions of Zhakata worship which are now considered forbidden, but also whatever gods that the PC's worship.

For James, that's a statue of Bastet, and for Mirri one of Kali. I decided that since in theory G'Henna was created more or less fully formed by the Mists when Yagno first found it, there should be a statue of/temple dedicated to Fenrir as well in order to help twist the knife/give Alex one more reason to find G'Henna unnerving and distasteful.

Fenrir of course is verbally having none of it, he's fairly certain that if there were people who worshiped him, he would have been aware of it. Even more to the point, aside from his body sharing arrangement with Alex/Douglas, Fenrir's entire life has been one long series of betrayals, that has left him feeling like the entire world is more or less out to get him.

Thus, when presented with evidence that runs contrary to this particular theme (that at least in one place he was once venerated, respected and worshiped) he immediately rejects it. He's not wrong in the grand scheme of things, but since the group has no idea just how much power the Mists/Dark Powers have, he can only sort of pick around the edges and point out a few things that are so inconsistent that even to people who grew up in Ravenloft don't feel quite right.

So with that done we go to chapter five, or I finally remember that these books are (at least in theory) an ensemble cast production, and so we need to give the rest of the group some interesting stuff to do.

I still will stand by it being amusing (and a testament to how realized the city of Zhukar is in the adventure book notes) that this book somehow manages to go all the way to chapter six before we have a proper "inciting incident" and chapter seven before our characters are really doing more than just reacting to the situation unfolding around them as best they can.

In this case, we get to see James and Mirri dealing with a few unintended consequences of James' favorite outfit.

As established in the adventure book "red" is the color associated with the priests of Zhakata (though interestingly at no point is the color ever directly associated with the Beast God himself, for example there's no mention of even a single statue of Zhakata being painted red) but it also happens to be the color of James' outfit.

James' outfit being a bright red color, and James himself looking noticeably more well fed than most occupants of Zhukar (ironically despite James having to flirt with fasting back in the first book he's got no such problems at all in this one, in addition to his "magically preserved meat" the city of Zhukar has a reasonably sized rodent population as you might expect from its rather run down condition) gets mistaken for a priest.

This entire situation is inspired by something straight from the adventure books that mentions since the PCs aren't going to look like the half starved wretches who make up most of Zhukar's population, they might be mistaken by said half starved wretches for wealthy merchants, leading to awkward situations/requests for help, I just took it one step beyond that.

If the person in question making the mistaking had pressed James for some philosophical advice then it would have been a race between the speed at which James forgot everything the group got told back in chapter two about how preaching about other gods is strictly forbidden, and Mirri's hand going over his mouth as she expects exactly that to happen.

Since the only thing requested of him as a "priest" is of a strictly secular nature however, James (as he is wont to do) promptly gets all aboard the Good Samaritan train to go help someone in need.

Mirri (as she is wont to do) somewhat sullenly follows along with him, hoping that something much more interesting will happen and luckily for her (and unluckily for the bandits) something does!

First major fight scene takes place, then we close out this chapter.

Oh and we also got a little of Cal and Devi, wish I could give them more "page time" but if all goes according to plan (and assuming I ever get around to writing it) they'll get plenty of it in the next book.

In chapter six we finally get around to that inciting incident/event that I'd been planning to have really get the ball rolling since I first drafted mental notes for how this particular story would go, its just that other stuff kept popping up that I had to write about first!

Alex gets a mysterious note that suggests he should go to a particular brewery. It's established in the adventure book that some of the abandoned/run down breweries have become gathering places for black markets, and the group might end up visiting one, which promptly ends up getting raided.

Granted the adventure books also tends to expect the protagonists to be noticeably less powerful than the Monster Party, and so while it'd be easy to intimidate and arrest most Ravenloft PCs (especially ones of appropriate level for the adventure) that wouldn't work quite so well with our group.

In particular, Alex as you may have noticed has been getting more and more and more pissed off with the things he's seen going on in Zhukar. If a hundred or so Swords of Zhukar (the soldiers who enforce the will of the priests) decided to try and take Alexander Diamondclaw prisoner, the last surviving one might actually accomplish it… but only after the only after running up the hill created by the dead bodies of the other ninety nine.

Also keep in mind this is assuming that it the hundred guys fighting Alex on his own, if Florence pitched in with her AOE's, well Florence is a high level druid, she has AOE spells powerful enough to destroy a noticeable portion of a city, to say nothing of the people who were occupying said portion of the city.

She doesn't use them all that often because Florence is a fundamentally good person, but it is an option.

So, rather than meeting up with our heroes after they've been captured as the adventure book suggests, Madar/Rega (I'm going to use those two names interchangeably in this commentary) does it to help them avoid being captured.

As a side note, even taking into account the fat that Rega seems to have an unremarkable face/keeps a lot of people guessing on what he actually looks like, Rega probably also uses some minor magic in order to keep people from recognizing him. I say that because the adventure books mentions the possible background farce (in the sense that the PCs aren't aware of it) of Rega getting the PCs captured, and then Madar springing them out of prison.

Granted the adventure book doesn't directly mention the PC's ever being allowed to meet with Rega while he's in his Rega persona, but as you may have noticed I like playing with certain elements of farce, so I like the mental image of a person shoving you into a jail cell, walking out of the room, changing costumes, and then coming back in to break you out of the jail cell, but it only really works if the characters aren't aware of what is happening but the reader is, so I didn't try to work it into the story for the sake of preserving who Madar really was...

So, with Alex and Florence getting some unexpected help we can move onto chapter seven.

I hope that you guys didn't find the plot of this adventure dragging too much due to how the first few chapters were mostly just meandering around Zhukar, if it did feel like it dragged let me know.

Most of chapter seven is Madar/Rega and Alex trying to have a properly conspiratorial conversation without Petchko getting in the way.

Alex and Rega are both playing very deep games at this point, and Petchko, isn't.

So both Alex and Rega need to drape everything they say, suggest or plan to do, not just in an aura of morality but piety as well. If that wasn't problematic enough, they both need to argue that what is really more of a naked power grab/revenge against Yagno Petrovna is actually for Yagno's own good since he's lost touch with what is good for the people of Zhukar, and thus what Zhakata himself really wants.

Its not surprising that the two can't wait to send Petchko away and have some private time with each other to really confirm that they both view Yagno Petrovna as an arrogant pompous fool who would be doing G'Henna a favor if he choked on his own dinner, assuming Yagno actually bothers to eat anything with bones in it in the first place, given how he looks he might he might get by on a diet of soup and bread.

Once Alex and Rega are done wheeling and dealing with each other Alex finally gets Petchko out of his hair for a bit and we move on to chapter eight.

Chapter eight is pretty darn brief and mostly exists to move the plot along, but none the less it felt like a good idea to actually have a break between the it and chapter nine.

In particular, the group gets the package with the robes that they'll need to sneak into the temple and then sneak in they do.

If this chapter does anything (besides moving the plot along), it helps to humanize the Swords of Zhakata. It is worth pointing out that say what you will about the Swords of Zhakata… they're not the Talons of Vlad Drakov.

Granted, said Talons may be wearing mind controlling bracelets which make them such utter bastards, though of course others might argue that the bracelets are simply to keep others from mind controlling them against Drakov, and they put them on willingly.

The politics and sociology of Falkovnia isn't the point, the point is to talk about the politics and sociology of G'Henna!

In this case, much like how we saw a glimpse of back in chapter two, many of the Swords of Zhakata are more or less fundamentally decent people who are by no means anywhere near as corrupt as the majority of the priests who oversee them.

This is important because it means that we can feel okay cheering for them, and or caring about how many of them survive when Malistroi's army ends up attacking the city near the end of the story. In fact, I probably could have added in another entire chapter of just James/other members of the group interacting with various Swords of Zhakata as they gathered up survivors from the city, getting them out of their homes and to the relative safety of Yagno's ritual.

That said, this story was already long enough, such a chapter doesn't add any plot important details to the story just a bit more emotional flavoring, so who knows, I may go of and eventually add something like that happening as a side-story chapter at some point.

Either way lets close out chapter eight and move onto chapter nine.

Except that we won't at the momentum because dear god this author commentary is already pretty long and it's been forever and a day since I last posted anything… (posts should get more frequent, I hope) and so I'm going to have another chapter of author commentary covering the second half of the story…


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